


Flight Plan

by PhoenixPhoether



Series: Flight Plan [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 38,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixPhoether/pseuds/PhoenixPhoether
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is a con artist who sells dubious, ineffectual, and outright fake products to unsuspecting villagers. He wants to run one last scam then retire in style, so he chooses Hogsmeade and sets up shop selling “flight school” to the children.  Unbeknownst to him, Harry Potter lives there and runs a book shop.  Draco attempts to use this to his advantage; the results he achieves aren't quite what he planned.  “The Music Man,” Drarry-style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Leaky Cauldron

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything out of the Harryverse (dreamed up by J. K. Rowling) or The Music Man (written by Meredith Wilson). I do, however, own my fangirl crushes on Professor Harold Hill and all things Drarry. I'm not getting paid for this. If I were, my children could go to college.
> 
> Warnings: Beware the randomness. General warnings throughout for scattered swearing, mentions of sex, actual sex, fluff, and quite a bit of OOC-ness. (But seriously, Drarry is automatically OOC, because what the what.)
> 
> A/N: This isn't a crossover fic; there are no characters/worlds other than Harry Potter. It was born out of my musings that if canon-Draco were a little bit nicer/had a bit more of a conscience, he would remind me a lot of Harold Hill. So I wrote what might have happened.

Glancing around furtively, Draco Malfoy paused outside a squat, brown building wedged between an office park and a restaurant decorated with tacky American flags and a large sign proclaiming that it sold ‘Authentic New York-Style Pizza!’

Surreptitiously casting a charm on the window to make it more reflective, he inspected every inch of himself in the large front window of the building.  Normally, one might assume this was out of simple vanity. In this case, Draco had a different reason for making sure that not a hair was out of place. He had to be certain that his glamour was holding before he set off.

Years ago, Draco had perfected the art of the semi-permanent glamour. He had created the unique combination of spells himself, using the standard charms, a stasis spell, and a potion adapted from Muggle technology. He might think Muggles were beneath him, but he certainly wasn't above using their inventions whenever it proved useful.

He had bound the spell he had created to a bracelet made of small, colourless stones that changed shape and texture slightly with each new glamour. He could easily hide it under the sleeves of his robes, and even long-sleeve Muggle shirts mostly covered it.

At that particular moment, Draco was critiquing the look he had chosen. He had darkened his hair four shades or so, lengthened his nose, rounded his normally slender (he refused to think of himself as pointy, even if he knew it to be true) features, and turned his grey eyes to a somewhat bland brown. He sighed; it was difficult, sometimes, to appreciate his own skill. He missed looking like himself. However, the look he had chosen suited his purpose. It left him attractive enough that people would notice, but not enough to gather a love-sick group of fan-girls. He appeared professional and well-groomed but without any appearance of aristocracy.

Upon completing his self-examination, Draco checked to see that the way was clear. He straightened his low-end suit and made for the corner. Fortunately, it was only a few blocks to the Leaky Cauldron, and the foot traffic was light so early in the morning. With any luck, he would be in and out and on his way in a respectably efficient amount of time.

Unfortunately, luck was not on his side that morning. Draco suppressed a groan of frustration. While not busy, the Leaky Cauldron was doing steady business. A fair number of early risers were sipping their tea or coffee and reading the _Daily Prophet_. He recognised several of them from previous encounters. More than likely, a fair number of them were doing much the same as he was—gathering their bearings before setting out on business.

The difference was that most of them had legitimate business.

Thankfully, the glamour would hold just fine, and it wasn't one he'd used before. It was getting a bit iffy whether or not someone would recognise a previous incarnation. He couldn't take the risk. So although it was more work, he put greater effort into developing his characters, creating an entirely new persona each time.  He donned his robes and stepped further inside.

A witch with frizzy blond curls led him to a table near the front window. This suited Draco just fine; he rather enjoyed watching the passing Muggles. It was amazing to him that none of them had figured out a more efficient way to travel than by foot or by car. He gave a tiny shrug, deciding that it probably wasn't worth close inspection.

As he settled in with his tea, Draco listened to the low buzz of conversation around him. Patrons were drifting in and out, but a group of three wizards and two witches were carrying on a spirited discussion of an article in the _Prophet_.

“Yes,” the dark-haired man with the wiry moustache was saying, “he's gotten away again.”

At first, Draco had a moment of panic. He thought they might be talking about someone escaping Azkaban. Though he would not care to admit it, there were several people he would not like to find waiting for him should they break out. It soon became clear, however, that they were speaking of a recent crime wave of sorts.

“He's making it difficult for all of us,” a slender witch with a large nose complained. “When people like that go about scamming the villagers, they don't trust the next person who comes to town.”

The others nodded in agreement. The short, mousy wizard piped up, “He's been at this as long—maybe longer—than I have. He goes underground for a bit, but he always shows back up.”

“And they can't catch him, because no one can ever identify what he looks like,” added the tiny, plump witch.

With a start, Draco realised they were talking about _him_. After recovering from his initial shock, he decided to have a bit of fun with it.

Leaning over, he said, “I couldn't help overhearing you. You're talking about the Vanishing Salesman, yeah?”

The others nodded vigorously. “I take it you've heard of him, then,” Moustache said.

“Who hasn't? Been damn hard to make a sale in any village he's visited,” Draco said.

Mousy Wizard motioned Draco to join them. He gathered his cup and his bag, gracefully sliding into a seat next to Large Nose.

The third wizard, a balding man with a broad, red face, chimed in. “Last time I was in the town of Rose Hill, I couldn't sell a damn thing. He'd already been and gone, pretending to be in the same line of wares. After that, not a single witch or wizard was interested in location-specific Floo powder, because he'd already tried to sell them on ward-repellent Floo powder.”

Draco suppressed a snigger. That had been one of his best takes, in fact. With the Department of Magical Transportation still heavily regulating Floo travel, it wasn't hard to get people to believe there was such a thing as ward-repellent powder. Too bad it hadn't been a real product.

“I hear he hasn’t hit Hogsmeade,” Tiny commented.

Balding snorted. “I wish him luck if he does. The villagers aren’t keen on either sales or cons. He’ll have a devil of a time selling anything there, in any case.”

“McLaggen, are you still selling cauldron sets?” Large Nose enquired.

McLaggen snorted. “Yeah. Some people do actually find it useful to own a full set, after all.”

“What are you selling these days, dear?” Tiny asked, addressing Large Nose.

“Self-cleaning cookware,” Large Nose told her. “What about the rest of you?”

Draco listened while the others claimed to trade in encyclopaedias of magic, songbooks that taught the buyer to sing, and owl grooming kits. They looked at him expectantly.

“Broomsticks,” he said automatically.

“Broomsticks?” Tiny was peering at him quizzically.

“Yes,” Draco replied, leaving it there.

“Isn’t that what the Vanishing Salesman trades in?” asked Moustache.

“Nah,” the one called McLaggen said. “He’s all over the map, though I don’t doubt he’s tried to sell broomsticks before.”

Tiny wrinkled her nose. “As if you couldn’t just buy one here.”

The others just stared at her, and she flushed.

McLaggen went on, “He convinces the villagers that whatever he’s selling, it’s bigger, better, or fancier than whatever anyone else has got.  He gives ‘em enough to make ‘em think he’s the real thing, but he never delivers on his promises. He just takes the money and runs.”

“How dreadful!” Big Nose said.

By this time, they had finished their breakfast and were beginning to collect themselves. Moustache was folding his copy of the _Prophet_ and shoving it into his case. Draco stood to leave as well, gathering his belongings. He nodded to the others at the table.

McLaggen stood to see him off, extending his hand. “Best of luck to you,” he said. “I don’t believe we caught your name…”

Taking his hand, Draco said, “Todd Hadley.”

He turned around, suppressing a smirk. Casting a mild _confundus_ over his shoulder, he stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and onto the busy London street.


	2. Next Stop, Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: They haven't become mine since the last chapter. Oh, well.
> 
> A/N: Wondering who’s who in this story? Stick around. :)

Upon leaving the Leaky Cauldron, Draco headed immediately for the Apparition point. It was still the most efficient mode of travel, even with the heavy regulations. Apparating directly into or out of a Wizarding or semi-Wizarding village was expressly forbidden, as it had been for the last fifteen years. There were Apparition points outside of each village from which one had to walk or fly to enter the village proper.

Draco Apparated to a place about a half-hour's walk from Hogsmeade and cast a quick cooling charm. It had been a mild summer so far, but the sun was bright, and he didn't want to ruin the impression he would make by arriving drenched in sweat. Besides, it was unbecoming for someone of his (all right, _former_ ) stature to look like he'd been out hauling heavy loads.

Draco enjoyed the leisurely stroll, taking time to plan his course of action. He had more or less decided that this would be his Big One, probably his last time as the Vanishing Salesman. He'd started this venture some ten years prior, mostly out of boredom.

After the war, his family wasn't exactly welcomed in their community. His parents, after smooth-talking their way out of Azkaban (something, if Draco recalled correctly, about his mother and doing a life-saving turn for the Damned Boy Who Wouldn't Just Die Already), decided they needed to improve their reputation. Thus began a series of investments and charitable giving designed to cause the wizarding world to look more favourably upon the Malfoy name.

Meanwhile, Draco had drifted a bit. He hadn't been entirely certain what to do with his adult life. Along with his year-mates, he had been excused from N.E.W.T.s. Most of the others had been given offers for work, some of them immediately. Potter and the Weasel had been all over the papers because they'd been allowed to accelerate their Auror training, but not much was open to Draco.

He had tried for professional Quidditch, but he hadn't made it. No one had said it, but he knew it had nothing to do with his skill. Disappointed, he had returned home and fallen into the role of keeping records for his parents' charities.

After several years of this, he grew bored. Blaise Zabini, who was nearly always up to something, made him an offer he couldn't refuse. They went into 'business' together, making a bit of money with their con games.

The thrill was invigorating. Draco had kept it up, even after Blaise retired. Last Draco knew, Blaise had settled down, but he wasn't sure where because Blaise had been determined to make a clean break. It didn't really matter; Draco was happy to keep pushing the limits of what he could get away with.

Draco entered the business district of Hogsmeade. It was much as he remembered it, though he hadn't been there for over fifteen years. He couldn't shake the slightly sick feeling in his stomach as his eyes scanned the familiar buildings. Even though his ban had been lifted, and he was safely hidden by the glamour, it still made him shudder to think what Rosemerta might do if she knew who he was.

Draco sought out the Hog's Head. He had been pleased to learn that old Aberforth had retired. The man had been more than a little creepy, and Draco was certain that he would be no more welcome in Aberforth's company than in Rosmerta's.

The pub was now fully accommodating, like the Leaky Cauldron. He was impressed with the work that had been done to the place. With confidence, he stepped inside.

Draco approached the bar, looking for the proprietor. He hadn't heard who had taken over after Aberforth sold the place. When Draco saw who it was, he was momentarily taken off guard. There, reclining behind the bar, feet propped up and the _Prophet_ in hand, was Blaise Zabini. Draco smiled to himself. Oh, this was far too easy.

He pulled out his wand and wordlessly bound and gagged Blaise. Quickly, Draco hauled Blaise into the kitchen behind the bar and shut the door. Once inside, he released the spells.

"What the hell?" Blaise, mouth now free, yelled.

"Shut up!" Draco hissed. "Blaise, it's me, Draco."

Blaise appeared to be struggling between rage and incredulity. He settled on rage and lunged at Draco, who held him off easily with a muttered spell.

"Stop fighting; you're making it worse," Draco told him calmly.

Blaise, panting and flushed with anger, glared at him. "I don't know what you're playing at, but this is one sick joke," he said at last.

"No joke, I promise. It's really me."

"If you're Draco, then you'll know the code name of the last product we sold together," Blaise said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Of course. 'Wet whiskers'."

Blaise's eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropping open. After a pause, he launched himself at Draco, grabbing him in a fierce bear hug. Laughing, he shouted, "It _is_ you!"

Draco motioned for him to be quiet. "No one else is to know it's me, got it? I'm here for the big one this time, the one that will let me retire in peace."

"You? Retire? That'll be the day. What will you do, go back to Mummy and Daddy, and file their parchments again?"

"Never you mind about that. For now, all I need is for you to keep quiet about who I really am. And maybe a couple other things as well."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

Draco shook his head. "Not here. Somewhere we can talk?"

"All right, fine. How about we discuss this in my office? I can fill you in on things there," Blaise said. "Business is usually slow this time of day, so we shouldn't be interrupted. But I don't have long, as there's no one to manage things down here. My wife won't be home again for a few days."

Draco nodded and followed Blaise back out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He had to admit, this was opportune. He hadn't expected to run into anyone he knew, let alone the one person who might be of use to him. He decided not to waste his chance. Knowing Blaise, there was quite a lot he could do for Draco.

Once inside the office, Blaise began setting out glasses and pouring drinks. Draco watched him in silence, considering. Something occurred to him.

"Why won't your wife be home for a few days?" he asked suspiciously.

Without turning around from the cupboard, Blaise said, "Ginny's a professional Quidditch player. She's away most of the time."

Draco nearly choked. There was only one Ginny he knew. Oh, dear God.

"Please tell me you didn't marry the Weaselette," he said.

Blaise plunked down a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea before flinging himself into the chair opposite Draco. "Don't call her that."

Oh, Lord.

"You did, didn't you?"

Blaise shrugged. "I got to know her. She's not the same person we knew in school. Hell, _I'm_ not the same. I will thank you to stop speaking of Ginny so rudely."

Draco rolled his eyes, but he nodded. For the sake of the help he would have to forgo if he wasn't polite, of course.

"So you married Ginny Weasley. Wasn't she supposed to marry Potter and make lots of little ginger babies?"

Blaise burst out laughing. "Draco, do you ever read the papers? There's a very good reason Potter didn't marry her. I can't believe you missed that."

Draco snorted. He had expressly avoided reading most of what was in the papers over the last fifteen years. Too much of it was about Potter, dead people, Potter, his family's disgrace, and Potter. He didn't really care to know what sorts of things the Conquering Hero did in his spare time.

"Well, believe it. I don't read the papers." Draco took a tentative sip of tea.

"Potter didn't marry Ginny because he's not into women."

This time, Draco did choke, spewing tea across Blaise's table. When he finished his coughing fit, he growled in frustration at his overreaction. Big deal; so Potter was gay. Whatever.

He glanced up at Blaise, ready to apologise for making a mess. He immediately regretted it. Blaise was smirking.

"Thought that might get your attention."

"Git," Draco said.

Blaise laughed outright. "You asked."

"I did not!" Draco huffed. This was not going as he had intended. "Forget Potter. Can we get to more important things, please? Like how you're going to help me whilst I'm here?"

Blaise shrugged. "Fine. What do you need me to do?"

"First of all, you need to make sure you don't blow my cover. I'm going by the name of Todd Hadley, and I'm selling flight school."

"That's a new one," Blaise commented.

"Yes. Got the idea from a catalogue, actually, from an ad for stunt brooms."

"Ah, yeah, that's coming back in style these days. What else do you need?"

"I need an angle, a reason they want to sign their kid up and buy a broomstick and a uniform."

"You don't have one yet? That's bad form, mate."

"No," Draco said, annoyed that Blaise was questioning his judgement. "I've taken to that the last few years. It always works better when you feel out the villagers, see what's going on in their lives. Makes it personal."

"Well, you may be out of luck then. It's pretty quiet around here in the summer."

Draco pondered. "Maybe that's part of it, then. Don't the kids get bored?"

"Nah. They do pretty well for themselves. Some of the older ones like to organise games. Last week, a bunch of them were playing a Muggle sport called 'football'. It didn't look too interesting, but they seemed content."

"Ugh, Muggle sports?" Draco wrinkled his nose. "I could use that, I suppose. Too much free time leads to experimenting with Muggle activities."

"Maybe, but you'll be hard-pressed to get the villagers to see that kicking a ball around a field is going to lead them into perdition." He sighed heavily. "Muggle games aren't really the problem, anyway."

"So there is a problem."

Blaise leaned back, tipped his head toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He stayed that way for several minutes. He didn't seem sure how to continue. At last, he opened his eyes, looked at Draco, and said, "Hogsmeade hasn't been the same since the War."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Right. Care to explain?"

"It's a tomb, except when Hogwarts is in session and the students come here. A lot of people left because they thought they'd be safer somewhere else. Those that are left still don't trust anyone." Blaise frowned. "There's no _life_ here."

"Well, that's a start." Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Who do I need to convince first?"

"I think maybe you should check out the Sliver Quill. The proprietor is just the person you're looking for. He's also the person with the most local influence." Blaise sniggered. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Draco sighed. "Fine. Take me into town and introduce me."

"Oh, trust me. You won't need me for that. But do give him my regards."

Draco really didn't like the smug look on Blaise's face.


	3. No Innocent Hufflepuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: They're not mine, but gosh it's fun to mess with their minds.
> 
> A/N: Well, here we are at chapter 3. My apologies for anyplace I've missed the appropriate UK term for something, as I'm from the US.

Blaise showed Draco to a room at the end of the hallway, then left him alone to settle in. Draco plunked his bag down at the end of the bed and opened it up. Leaving it there, he turned around and pulled open the top drawer of the dresser, which squealed in protest.

Reaching into his bag, Draco unloaded the few things he'd packed. He tried to travel light, by wizarding standards, so there wasn't much besides several sets of robes and his toilette. Reaching down into the bag, he pulled out the one thing he hadn't been able to resist: his broomstick.

This wasn't the same one he'd used all through school. In fact, it wasn't a racing broom at all. It was a Razor Edge, the highest quality stunt broom on the market. It was thicker and sturdier than a racing broom, built not for speed but for skill. Lovingly, Draco ran his hands along the wood, appreciating its smooth texture and enjoying the heavy weight of it in his hands.

The old pang returned, the longing he always felt when he held this broomstick. After his failure to be drafted for professional Quidditch, he had taken up studying stunt flight on his own. It had been growing in popularity for some time, oddly owing to an old bat who had caused a commotion when she flew on Halloween some years back. There was only one squad of professional formation fliers, the White Wolves. Draco knew he had about as much chance of joining them as he did of being selected for a professional Quidditch team, but he still dreamt of it from time to time.

Draco shook himself out of his reverie, gently leaning the broomstick in the corner. This was no time to daydream about might-have-beens when he clearly had more pressing matters to attend to. Quickly, he finished stowing his belongings, pushed his bag under the bed, and left his room.

Emerging from the Hog's Head, Draco made his way to the centre of town. There were a few new shops at the near end of the High Street. One said Alastair's and featured a finely tailored women's wedding robe in the window. Another appeared to be a kind of patisserie. The third had a large sign that read The Silver Quill in elegant, shimmery lettering. Draco paused outside the door. This was the shop Blaise had recommended. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

A tiny bell tinkled as the door opened and shut behind him. The few sounds from the passers-by outside were muffled in the nearly silent store. Draco allowed his eyes to adjust, then scanned the shop. He drew in his breath, awed by the sight that greeted him.

All around him, reaching much higher than the building should have allowed, were books. There were shelves lining every wall, floor to ceiling. Throughout the shop there were small, round kiosks with featured titles such as _Care and Feeding of Owls, A to Z_ and _What Witches Really Want_ and _Mischief Managed: The Authorised Biography of the Weasley Twins._ The last one made Draco snort.

Whether alerted by the sound of the bell or the noise Draco had just made, a young wizard appeared at the counter. He was rather mousy looking, with somewhat small features and dull brown hair. "May I help you?" he enquired politely.

Briefly Draco wondered if this was the man Blaise had spoken of. A closer look, however, revealed that his black and silver robes were embroidered with the word 'assistant'. Regaining composure, Draco replied, "No, thank you. Just browsing."

The clerk nodded. "Let me know if you need assistance." He returned to the back room.

Draco continued looking through the shop, pausing when he came to titles that caught his fancy. There was an entire section devoted to broom flight. He would have to return when things were a bit less pressing. That section would merit a thorough going-over.

Soft footfalls indicated the presence of someone behind Draco. A quiet voice said, "Excuse me, are you looking for something specific?"

Draco felt his heart speed up. He _knew_ that voice. _No_ , he told himself. _It_ can't _be._ Slowly, he turned around. When he looked up, he found himself staring at precisely the last person he wanted to see. The glasses were different, but there was no mistaking the brilliant green eyes, the black hair, or the scar.

He almost backed right out of the shop.

This Harry Potter was nothing like Draco remembered him, nor much like he'd seen him in the papers during those first few years after the war. Besides the inevitable slide into adulthood, there was something distinctly different. His formerly unruly hair was trimmed neatly and styled. He was no longer attempting to cover his scar with his fringe, but allowed it to stand out without shame. He'd traded his thick, dark frames for small, silver ones, which gave him a look of intelligence and charm. Most of all, he looked _content_.

Breathing in and out through his nose so as not to hyperventilate, Draco just stood there, at a loss for words. It took a full minute before he realised that while he recognised Potter, there was no way Potter knew who he was. He swallowed, willing his heart rate to return to normal. Draco was going to _Avada_ Blaise. Then he was going to find a way to bring him back and do it again because there was no question whatsoever that Blaise had in mind for Draco to use Potter to sell the villagers on his product.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have startled you," Potter said. "Dennis mentioned a customer. He did say you didn't need help, but I thought I would check anyhow." He smiled a genuine smile, open and welcoming. Draco couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed by that, though he couldn't quite place why.

He straightened himself out, thinking fast. Picking up a book from the closest kiosk, he said, "I just came in to see if you had this in stock. I see that you have." He hoped that Potter didn't hear the note of panic behind his words.

Potter glanced at the book in Draco's hand. His mouth twitched, but he said nothing. Draco followed his gaze down to his own hand. _Shit._ The bright purple cover of the book read, in fancy gold script, _Forty Ways to Charm a Wizard_. The pink-clad witch on the cover gave him a saucy wink.

"I'll just ring this out for you, shall I?" Draco gave Potter credit; he had kept a straight face the entire time, behaving professionally throughout. He followed Potter to the front desk of the shop. He had no choice; his only other option was to tell Potter the truth.

After paying far more for the book than he thought it was worth, Draco headed back toward the Hog's Head. Along the way, he went over in his mind the many ways in which he was going to do bodily harm to Blaise. He was certain this must be some kind of perverted joke on the part of his old friend. Surely he didn't actually mean for Draco to make _friends_ with Harry Potter. And even if he did, surely he didn't think that would actually work, did he?

Draco found Blaise exactly where he'd been the first time, hiding behind his copy of the stupid _Daily_ _Prophet_. He was sorely tempted to hex him while he was unaware. Instead, he opted to march over to him and rip the paper out of his hands.

With an outraged cry, Blaise jumped out of his chair. Upon seeing Draco, he broke out in a huge grin. "How'd it go?"

"You know perfectly well how it went. Blaise, you arse, you should have told me. I could have been prepared!"

"I did warn you."

"You said I wouldn't like it. I thought you meant he would be ugly or old or smelly, not that he would be HARRY BLOODY POTTER!"

Blaise put his hands out, palms up. "What can I say?" He was still grinning. Draco wanted to punch him. Or hex him within an inch of his life.

"I don't know what game you're playing at, but I fail to see how this is going to work."

"Not playing at anything, mate. I told you already. This is your shot—you get him to cooperate, you've got the rest of the village in your back pocket. He trusts you. Everyone else will think you know what you're doing."

Draco sighed. He supposed this was likely to be true. In the fifteen years since the war ended, people hadn't forgotten who Potter was. He plopped down into the chair next to Blaise.

"I hate him," Draco said, trying valiantly not to whine.

Blaise sat up straight in his chair and looked directly at Draco. "Grow the hell up, Malfoy."

Blaise didn't call him by his surname unless he was really put out, but Draco decided to play dumb. "Don't know what you mean."

"Oh, yes, you do. Whilst you were busy trying not to become an adult, the rest of us moved on. Fifteen years later, you're still nursing some idiotic schoolyard grudge."

Draco harrumphed. "I just need to get my mind off things for a bit."

Blaise eyed Draco thoughtfully, his head to one side. "Want me to set you up while you're here?"

"I suppose." Blaise had always been good at that sort of thing when they'd worked together. Often, it proved highly successful. The side benefit was that it made it even harder for the next wizard who came through.

"I could set you up with my wife's brother. He's—"

"No!" Draco hissed. "Not a bloody Weasley."

"Why not? He's pretty fit. And he works with _dragons_. He's visiting for the summer…"

"You must be joking." Draco shook his head. "I have to draw the line somewhere."

"Well, then, you want a challenge or an easy shag? Drawn-out romance, or quick and dirty?"

Draco sighed. He wanted to tell Blaise the truth, which was that he was tired of this game, tired of being alone, tired of being on the run all the time. He wanted to say that he needed more than just a couple of drinks and a quick hand job in a back alley with someone too innocent to understand his past. He wanted to say that it had been too long since he'd had anything else.

He didn't say any of that, however. "Just…whatever." _No one bent on saving me_ , he added silently.

"I'll take care of you. Don't worry—you won't be needing that." Grinning, he gestured at the book in Draco's hand.

"I still hate him," Draco muttered, stuffing the book inside his robes.

"Uh huh," came Blaise's reply. "Now, do leave me alone. I want to finish reading in peace."


	4. Potter the Shop-keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, never will money be changing hands here.
> 
> A/N: Is the flirting intentional or unintentional? You decide.

Draco gave himself a whole day to mull over what to do about Potter. That gave him some time to decide what he was going to say to Potter the next time he visited the Silver Quill. He had considered changing his mind and rejecting Blaise's advice outright in favour of ignoring Potter and focusing on the rest of the village. On balance, however, he decided it might be worth the advantage. And there was the added bonus of finally getting one over on Potter.

All through school, Draco had been at a disadvantage. Not one thing he'd tried had come out as planned. Potter had always figured it out or put a stop to it. Draco convinced himself that it wasn't as though he'd held a fifteen-year grudge, it was just that it would still be nice to have the upper hand for once. Potter wouldn't have a clue this time.

With renewed confidence, Draco re-entered the Silver Quill the next morning. The little bell over the door tinkled, jarring the silence in the shop. Draco breathed in the scent of leather and parchment, enjoying the air of ambient magic that tingled around the periphery.

Potter was at the desk, sorting through some parchments. He looked up at the sound, then smiled warmly. Draco was struck again at how different this Potter was to the almost-eighteen-year-old boy who destroyed the Dark Lord. Draco pretended to himself that he hadn't noticed that Potter was rather fit.

"So, you have returned," Potter said conversationally. "Take your time. We don't close again until eight."

Draco was certain that there was a twinkle in Potter's eye. He turned away so that Potter wouldn't see him flush at the memory of the book he had inadvertently selected the day before. Draco's eyes drifted toward the selection of Quidditch books, marvelling at the sheer volume. It occurred to him that the shop must be magically enhanced because he didn't think it looked from the outside as though it could hold so many books.

"Ah, looks like you're interested in Quidditch," Potter remarked, following his gaze. "We have a few new titles, just in yesterday."

"Thank you," Draco answered. He did want to read those books, but not at the expense of his mission. "I will be sure to check those out. Do you play?"

Draco was delighted to see that Potter seemed caught off guard. "I played back in school, yes. Never professionally, of course."

"Hm. What position?"

"Seeker." Potter was eyeing him strangely. Draco was enjoying Potter's discomfort, evident now in his posture and tone.

"Ah, really? I used to play a bit," Draco said. Potter made a non-committal noise, which Draco took as license to continue. "Actually, I'm here on related business."

"I see. Is there something I can help you with?" Potter clearly wasn't taking the bait.

"At the moment, I am in need of some basic supplies. Parchment, quills, ink." He ticked them off on his fingers.

"Up here, by the desk," Potter said, indicating the built-in shelves. He smirked. "Trying out something from your new book?"

"No," Draco answered shortly. This was not going according to plan. He needed to bring the conversation back around before it entirely derailed. In an effort to prevent himself from hexing Potter, he browsed the shelves, picking things out until he had everything he needed. He laid it on the desk and then leaned casually against it.

"Is there anything else here you wanted?"

"Perhaps. How about the shop-keep?" He grinned.

Potter gave a half-hearted smile and rolled his eyes. "Charming. Get that one from your book?"

"Very funny," Draco said. "Actually, I'm here on business. I'm trying to make connections," he continued, hoping his smile conveyed his meaning. "Name's Todd Hadley." He extended a hand.

Potter accepted it. "Harry Potter."

"Not the famous Harry Potter?" Draco feigned surprise.

"The same," he said without even a hint of exasperation.

"All the more reason to have a sit-down. I would love to discuss my line of work with you," Draco told him, hoping he didn't sound desperate.

"While I'm sure that you're very knowledgeable about…erm…whatever it is that you do, I'm quite busy at the moment." As if to prove his point, Potter made to return to his task.

"It wouldn't take long. We could even talk over dinner, which would be more relaxed. I'm sure that you would be interested in what I have to say."

Potter didn't seem fazed by this. Draco frowned. He would have to turn up the charm. He tried again. "Besides, I'm not as familiar with the town as I'd like to be."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Where are you staying?"

"The Hog's Head."

"I know the owner. I'm sure he would be happy to show you around and introduce you to a few people."

Draco shrugged. "Well, I think I'd like more than just a tour guide. Someone who might be more familiar with the, ah, social aspect of the village."

Potter just rolled his eyes again "It's a small village. There's not much to see, socially speaking. In fact, you've probably seen it already."

"Maybe," Draco said. "But I'd also like to get to know the people."

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do. But this isn't the time or place. The people of Hogsmeade aren't much interested in whether or not you and I are on friendly terms."

This was going to be harder than Draco had anticipated. He followed Potter as he stepped out from behind the desk with a stack of books.

The sound of the door opening momentarily distracted Draco, giving Potter the time he needed to stalk over to the shelves along the far wall.

A group of adolescents trooped in, headed by a boy with shockingly bright blue hair and a skull dangling from his left ear. The boy was laughing and saying something Draco didn't catch to a pretty girl with long, blond hair. She blushed.

"Hey, Harry, is that new book on expert Quidditch moves in yet?" Draco was surprised to hear the boy address Potter with such familiarity.

"Sorry, Teddy, it's not in. I'm hoping to have it by the end of the week."

The boy looked disappointed. "Well, is there anything else good?"

Potter handed him a copy of _Mischief Managed: The Authorised Biography of the Weasley Twins._ Teddy wrinkled his nose.

"Aw, that's it?"

"You've read all the other ones," Potter told him. Catching Draco's eye briefly he added, "Would you rather read _Forty Ways to Charm a Wizard_?"

Draco choked.

Teddy made a big production out of sighing. "Fine. Can you maybe let me know when it arrives?"

"You'll be the first to know," Potter assured him.

Meanwhile, the others were flipping through books. Potter left them alone and continued stocking the shelves. Draco followed, refusing to be ignored.

"Persistent, aren't you?" Potter remarked without turning around.

As Potter returned to the desk to ring Draco out, Draco said, "So what do you say? Just a casual dinner?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw the group of youths had turned their attention to the two of them. The blue-haired boy—Teddy?—was grinning.

"Not interested." Potter wasn't making this easy.

"Oi, Harry, you should go for it!" Teddy called from among the shelves in the middle of the shop. Startled, Draco realised that Teddy must have the wrong impression.

"Don't you have better things to do with your time?" Potter asked, a hint of warning in his voice. "Like checking out what's new at Wheezes?" His eyes flashed, but the pink tinge in his cheeks was unmistakable.

 _Interesting_ , Draco thought. That was an angle he hadn't previously considered.

Teddy pouted a bit, which was rather unbecoming. But he motioned to the rest of the youths, urging them to move off.

Draco decided that a version of the truth might work better. "Look, I'm here to sell my product. I think you would appreciate it and I want to explain my line of work to you. We could meet, tour the town, and have a drink. You could tell me what's going on around Hogsmeade these days, and I could show you what I've got. It's just business."

Potter sighed. "All right, fine. I close early on Fridays. Meet me here at seven." Without another word, he finished ringing out Draco's purchases.

As Draco left the shop, it occurred to him that Blaise had been wrong. It wouldn't take winning Potter's approval to gain the town; it was the other way round.


	5. Hogsmeade Stubborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own it, but I sometimes wish I lived in their world. This is my way of pretending I do.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Obnoxious children?
> 
> A/N: Further up and further in…

Returning to the Hog's Head, Draco was grateful that Blaise didn't seem to be about, as he was reluctant to field questions about how it had gone at the book shop. He smiled politely at the girl behind the counter—a skinny, barely-of-age witch with dark brown curls. She gave him a bored half-smile in return.

Once up in his room, Draco unloaded his purchases. He emptied the small bag onto the desk, carefully laying out the parchment, one quill, and some vivid purple ink. Sitting down in the chair, he took up the quill and began to write.

When he was satisfied with what he had written, he took his wand and lightly tapped the parchment. Two pictures of children on broomsticks appeared, and the ink took on a slight shimmer. The sentences arranged themselves smartly on the parchment to form an attention-grabbing ad which read:

> **Have you ever wanted to learn the secrets of formation flying?**
> 
> **Come learn at the Hogsmeade FLIGHT SCHOOL**
> 
> **Saturday, 13 July**
> 
> **In the empty field behind the Shrieking Shack**
> 
> **Todd Hadley, Flight Instructor**

Pleased with this accomplishment, Draco used a simple duplicating spell on the parchment to copy the advert. Now all he needed to do was find adequate locations for them about town.

Setting off once more, Draco turned his attention to the town itself rather than individual shops. He wanted to have a stroll through it to see what Blaise was talking about when he had said that Hogsmeade had become a shell of its former self.  He headed toward the end of town opposite the stile. Passing Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Draco vaguely remembered hearing that they'd bought out Zonko's some years back. He decided that was one shop he wouldn't be visiting.

Blaise had been right; Hogsmeade was eerily quiet. There were people passing on the High Street, of course, ducking quickly into shops or pausing to greet one another. But there wasn't the same rush of activity that marked his youthful visits.

This was nothing like the Hogsmeade Draco remembered. It didn't have the bustling charm of his school years, nor did it have the dark terror of the war when it was controlled by Death Eaters. It wasn't merely attributable to the fact that it was mid-afternoon on a weekday. There was something subdued in the way that everyone seemed to be about his or her business. Draco couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, however. From all appearances, this town was much like any other.

It struck him when he saw a woman coming up the street with three small children in tow. They were dragging her toward Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The woman looked harassed. In an instant, Draco realised that other than the adolescents in Potter's shop, these were the first children he had seen since his arrival.

It was high summer; there should have been children about everywhere. After all, there was no school in session, either at Hogwarts or at the local primary school. Where were they?

"Excuse me, madam," Draco said, stopping the woman. "I wonder if I could have a moment."

Glancing at her children, the woman sighed. "I suppose, but make it quick."

"Certainly. I'm here on business, so I am not familiar with the town. I couldn't help noticing that your children are the first I've seen since I arrived."

The woman eyed him suspiciously. "Most of us would rather keep them a bit closer to home rather than wandering round the village."

"Why is that?"

She shrugged. "That's just the way it's done these days, I suppose. When I was a child, we did as we pleased. Everyone's more cautious now." The oldest of her three children had his arms folded across his chest, glowering. The youngest was pressing her face against her mother's robes and twisting round and round her waist. The middle one was already halfway up the road.

As her back was to him, the woman appeared to be oblivious to her wayward child. Draco indicated the situation and said, "I think you've lost one."

"Hang on. Erastus!"

When the boy didn't respond, she made to follow him. Holding up a hand, Draco stopped her and jogged after the boy, leaving the woman standing in the road with the other two, her mouth open in surprise.

Draco caught up with the boy easily, passing him and coming to a stop directly in his path. Erastus, who was humming a tune and swinging his arms, eyes partially shut, was not paying attention to his surroundings and ran right into him.

"Ungh!" The boy blinked, looking up at Draco. He scowled; Draco smirked.

"Your mum is still back there."

"She doesn't have to come with me. I'm old enough to go by myself."

"I'm sure you are. I think she'd like to know where you are, though. Come on." Draco pressed his hand into the boy's shoulder, turning him around. He kept his hand firmly on Erastus until they were back with the rest of the family.

Draco deposited Erastus with his mother. "It looks to me as though your children could use something to keep them busy."

She rolled her eyes. "Always. And unless you plan to watch them for me whilst I finish the shopping, then you'd best let us be on with it."

Turning back to Erastus, Draco asked him, "Do you like to ride on your broomstick?"

"Nah. Mum says it's too dangerous. She says that I have too much energy and I won't be careful."

"Hm, does she now? What if I told you I could teach you how to fly without even getting on a broomstick?"

"You're lying."

That was the one thing about children; they were relentlessly honest with their assessments. "Nope, not lying," Draco assured him. He knelt down to address the girl, who had her arms wrapped around her mother's legs by that point. "Hello."

"Hi."

"What's your name?"

"Junia."

"Junia, do you ever fly?"

"Mum says I can when I'm older. She says they teach the big kids how to fly at school."

"Your mum's right—they do. But I'll bet you're not too little for the way I teach. How old are you?"

"Six and three quarters."

"Perfect!" Draco straightened up. "Well, Madam, I believe I could offer you something better than free babysitting."

Startled, she looked directly at Draco for the first time. "Really?"

"Yes. I don't know about you, but when I was a child, my summers were spent outside on my broomstick."

She smiled, a wistful expression crossing her face. "Me, too," she said softly.

"Here." Draco pulled one of the adverts and used a shrinking charm on it to render it pocket-sized. He handed it to the woman. "All the details are on there."

She accepted the parchment, glancing at it briefly before a tug on her arm nearly sent her sprawling. "I have to go," she said, turning away to follow her children. They had now begun to push her along. She looked back over her shoulder and held up the parchment. "Thank you!"

Draco watched them go, finding himself hoping that the children would come. It had taken him by surprise that he was fond of children. After all, that was on the list of things Malfoys Didn't Do, along with saving the lives of people the Dark Lord wanted dead and being gay. Having failed at avoiding both of the other two things, Draco had decided that liking children wasn't much of a stretch.

In fact, Draco had mostly given up on keeping any of the strict rules for being a Malfoy. He wasn't going to marry a wealthy pureblood witch and produce a lone attractive and magically powerful male heir, either. He would prefer to identify with his Black family heritage; they were nearly all insane, but they weren't cool and detached. They also liked children, his late Aunt Bellatrix notwithstanding.

Despite having spent the first nearly eighteen years of his life attempting to be as much like his father as possible, it had taken little time for Draco to realise that he enjoyed the noise and life with which young children are invariably imbued. He had decided not to analyse the psychology of that; he didn't want to examine too closely whether his own privileged but lonely childhood had any bearing on his feelings. That was why he typically didn't like to run cons that involved children. He rationalised this one by reminding himself that at least those children really would learn to fly one day, even if he wasn't the one who would teach them.

Shaking himself free of his thoughts, Draco began attaching his advertisements to lamp-posts and street signs, slowly making his way in the opposite direction from which he had come. By the time he turned around again at the end of the street, he saw that a few people had stopped to look. Pleased, he started back toward the Hog's Head.

When he reached the Silver Quill, Draco saw that Potter was outside the shop, speaking with a tall, red-headed wizard dressed in elegant black robes. They appeared to be having a serious discussion about something; the black-clad wizard looked angry about whatever it was.

Glancing up from their conversation, Potter's eyes met Draco's. He frowned a little then turned back to the other wizard, presumably to be lectured a bit more. Draco wondered what Potter's problem was. After all, Draco had been perfectly nice to him. He resisted the urge to remove the nearest of his advertisements from its lamp-post and use a permanent sticking charm to affix it to Potter's forehead. He reminded himself that Potter already appeared to be getting an earful from someone else. Clearly, Perfect Potter had the ability to upset people not named Malfoy. Draco resumed his walk.

Back inside the Hog's Head, Draco noted with some dismay that the bored witch was gone and Blaise had returned to his post. He tried to slip past on his way upstairs, but Blaise was quicker.

"Dra—Todd!" he called.

Swallowing the sigh that threatened to escape his lips, Draco turned around. Blaise waved him over.

"I've got it all set up for you," Blaise said, passing Draco a small note. "This Friday, nine o'clock, here at the Hog's Head."

For some reason, Draco wasn't feeling as enthusiastic as he should have about meeting the blind date Blaise had arranged. This was Blaise; the man had exceptional talents in match-making. "I've already got plans, thanks," Draco told him.

"Change them then. He's worth it."

Draco hadn't planned on explaining the situation to Blaise. "With Potter," he said. "I'm being _nice_." He gritted his teeth a little on the last word.

"What time are you meeting Potter?" Blaise countered.

"Seven," Draco admitted, feeling defeated. There was no way to escape this one.

"Plenty of time. Just meet Potter here." Blaise frowned. "I went to considerable trouble to make these arrangements for you. At least try to be grateful."

Draco realised that Blaise was right. He couldn't let the fact that Potter kept getting under his skin spoil things for him. "You're right," he conceded. "Fine. Who is it?"

"His name's Kellen. And before you ask, he's not old, ugly, or smelly. He's meeting us here so I can introduce you. Trust me—I think you'll like him."

"I'm sure you're right." Draco excused himself to his room to figure out how he was going to make it through both dinner with Potter and a date with Blaise's friend on the same night.


	6. The Sin in Sincere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, but I can dream.
> 
> Warnings: Parseltongue kink, bit of swearing
> 
> A/N: Note to self: Don’t piss off Harry Potter.

Friday afternoon, after a shower and a shave, Draco felt refreshed. He selected a simple set of green robes flecked with gold. He thought it best to look smart rather than elegant, and he wanted to give the impression that he was educated but not wealthy. He had found that appearing to be well-off did not usually endear people to him when he was attempting a sale. Although, he reasoned, Potter was somewhat a breed of his own.

Shortly before seven, Draco set off to collect Potter from the Silver Quill. The heat of the day had abated, and a fresh, cool breeze stirred the trees beyond the tops of the buildings. The air was scented with summer blooms and the smells of cooking from the various establishments. He had forgotten, in the many years since he'd been there, how much he loved Hogsmeade.

Draco stopped outside the Silver Quill. The sign in the window still read 'Open', but the light inside was dim. Potter must be closing up, entering last-minute sales figures or re-shelving books people had removed but not bought. Draco imagined Potter carefully returning everything to its rightful place so that the shop would be ready in the morning. He pictured him locking drawers, hanging his robes, and turning out the lights. Draco shook his head to clear it. That all sounded so . . . _ordinary_ , somehow, not like something a person famous for saving the world would do.

The sound of the door closing broke Draco out of his reverie. There Potter stood, wearing casual grey robes. There was a girl with him, clutching a book to her chest. Tall and skinny, she had thick brown curls and a smattering of freckles across her long, thin nose. Draco wasn't particularly good at guessing children's ages, but he placed her at around eight or nine.

The girl waited while Potter locked the door and slipped the key inside his pocket. Quickly, Draco cast a notice-me-not charm and stepped into the shadow of the building to wait for Potter to send her on her way.

Potter smiled down at the girl. "Thanks for the help tonight. You should get home now, Rosie. Your dad will have dinner waiting."

"Aren't you going to walk me?"

"Not tonight, love. I have a meeting."

Draco was surprised. Most of the locals didn't seem keen on their children wandering around unsupervised, but here was Potter sending a child on her way alone. It would seem that he didn't think much of the overprotective parenting that had become normalised.

Potter continued to address the girl. "You could stop in the Three Broomsticks if you like. Teddy's in there. I'm sure he would take you home."

The girl looked down at her shoes, tracing a pattern in the dirt with her toe. She raised the book slightly so that she was peering over the top of the over-sized volume. "Nah, that's okay."  She paused.  "Uncle Harry?" she said in a small voice.

Potter turned fully toward her. "Yes, Rose?"

She wrinkled her nose a little. "Er. I was wondering…how can you tell if two people don't love each other anymore?"

Potter started. He studied the girl's face for a moment before stepping over to the bench underneath the large display window. He sat, patting the seat next to him. The girl flopped down onto the bench.

He nudged her knee with his, looking as though he was holding something back, like he was trying to keep it together for her sake. "Still rough at home?"

Rose nodded. "Mum just seems so tired all the time."

"I know. It's been hard on all of you since the accident."

Draco wondered what accident the child was referring to. Whatever it was, it had obviously been serious. Had someone died?

The girl said, "Yeah, but lately, Mum's just been saying she has to work all the time. She doesn't want to be at home."

"It's not that, sweetheart. It's that your mum is so used to being able to read some books and figure everything out. This time, she can't do that."

Rosie looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "But do you think they still love each other? I mean, how did you know you and Aunt Ginny didn't love each other anymore?"

That last bit made Draco lean in closer.

Potter coughed. "It's complicated," he told her.

"Well, Mum talks about it sometimes, you know. She says she doesn't want you to end up alone, in case…in case…" She didn't appear to be able to complete that thought.

"Rose. Look at me."

She lifted her chin, her gaze meeting his.

"You don't have to worry, and neither does your mum. What happened with Aunt Ginny is not the same thing as what your parents are going through. I will be fine, and you can always come in here and talk to me. Understand?"

Rose nodded.

Draco chose that moment to cancel the charm. He stepped out from behind the building.

"Mr. Hadley," Potter greeted Draco.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Draco answered.

Potter and the girl both stood. "This is my goddaughter, Rose Weasley."

Draco choked back a groan. Fantastic; another bloody Weasel. He collected himself and extended a hand to her, which she took, giggling.

"My name is Todd Hadley," he told her, turning up the charm. She was a child, after all, and not in control of her parentage. "A pleasure to meet you, young lady."

She curtsied politely, a pretty blush colouring her freckled cheeks.

"Rose, go ahead home. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

She nodded, and took off into the semi-dark. As they watched her skip off up the street, Draco was again struck by how different this version of Potter seemed to him. Had he always been this easy with the problems of others? Draco had always had the impression that Potter was singularly self-centred, unconcerned about much beyond his inner circle and his mission to Save the Wizarding World From People Who Didn't Like Muggle-Borns.

Once the girl was out of sight, Draco turned to Potter. "I seem to be a bit overdressed."

Potter laughed. "Well, I couldn't exactly wear my shop robes, could I? I could go home and change, I suppose," he added.

"No, not at all. Perhaps we will choose someplace casual, then? Just the Hog's Head, maybe. We'd both fit in there."

"That sounds fine."

"Then it's settled," Draco said. "Shall we?"

As they walked, silence stretched between them to the point of discomfort. After witnessing the interaction between Potter and Rose, Draco was unsure what to say. Despite the fact that there was no love lost between himself and her parents, he felt sympathy for Rose. He was all too familiar with being in between parents too wrapped up in their own concerns to notice what their child needed.

Draco found himself wishing Potter would speak. _Say something_ , he willed.

"Hm?"

 _Damn._ Draco must have muttered that last part out loud. "I was just surprised that you were so quiet."

Potter snorted inelegantly. "You were the one who suggested we have dinner. I don't usually find it necessary to talk unless there's something I need to say."

Draco considered that. He had always found himself unreasonably annoyed by Potter's mere presence, but he had never realised that he was the one initiating all their interactions. Now that he gave it some thought, he recalled that Potter had not once spoken to him willingly.

Irritated, Draco said, "Taught not to speak unless spoken to, were you?"

"Something like that."

Draco was surprised by the trace of bitterness in Potter's voice. He was on the verge of inquiring about it when he saw that they had arrived at the Hog's Head. Potter graciously held the door for Draco. Clearly the Boy Wonder had manners after all.

Inside, the sound of voices and the clatter of dishes greeted them. The Friday evening atmosphere was pleasantly relaxed. It was between the hours of casual meal and stress-releasing inebriation, which meant slightly more animated chatter without the increased volume. The same young woman Draco had seen earlier in the week ushered the men to a table in the furthest corner.

Over dinner, Potter grilled Draco about his business in town. "I have to admit, you have me curious. What brings you to Hogsmeade?"

"I teach flight school," Draco answered.

"Flight school?" Draco could hear incredulity in Potter's voice.

"Yes, formation flying. It's more disciplined than Quidditch, and it's useful for keeping young people occupied."

"I see. Do you have any qualifications for this 'flight school' you teach?"

Draco gave his standard answer, the one he had prepared for such questions. "Yes, of course. I was educated myself at . . . L'Institute Aeropostale," he said.

Potter raised an eyebrow, and Draco shrugged. Potter wasn't to know that Draco had simply used a word he'd seen on a Muggle shirt once and had rather liked.

Fortunately, Potter didn't pursue it. Instead, he asked, "You mentioned you used to play Quidditch."

"I did, yes. When I was at school. I even tried for a professional team, but I didn't make it."

"Really? What position?"

Draco decided to be honest. "Seeker."

"Huh. Were you at Hogwarts, then? I played seeker as well, but I don't recall playing against you."

"No," Draco lied. "My parents sent me to one of the smaller private schools."

"Ah, that makes sense. So how did you decide to teach formation flight?"

"After I failed to secure a spot playing professional Quidditch, I wanted to put my skills to good use. I experimented a bit, and then I discovered the lost art of formation flight." He laid his fork down. "This is why I wanted to speak with you. I think you would be very interested to see what it's all about."

Draco saw Potter stiffen slightly and a trace of a frown crossed his face, but it passed quickly and he relaxed back into his seat. There was something uniquely satisfying about toying with Potter and pushing him to invest in Draco's scam. He might not recognise Draco, but he would surely feel the sting of failure when it was over. He would regret his involvement and accept the blame for everything, of course.

Draco leaned towards Potter, pressing his current advantage. "Having Harry Potter endorse the flight school would be quite an asset," he said quietly.

At once, Draco saw his mistake, but before he could react, Potter grabbed his wrist savagely and dragged Draco forwards roughly. He put his mouth right up against the side of Draco's head, breath tickling the outer shell of Draco's ear. The sensation made Draco squirm.

And then Potter was whispering—no, _hissing—_ in Draco's ear. Oh, God. He had forgotten that Potter could speak Parseltongue. Not having heard it in years, he had also apparently forgotten that it had any sort of effect on him. Draco suspected that it was intended to intimidate him, but he reacted to it in an entirely different way. His breath sped up and his body tingled with arousal.

Draco closed his eyes. He knew that he was panting slightly, but he was unable to do anything other than lean in further. Potter's grip on his wrist tightened fractionally and Draco could hear his breath hitch. He opened his eyes to find that Potter was staring at him in wonder. Draco watched Potter's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed before repeating the hissing more quietly.

"Wha—what did you say?" Draco gasped.

Potter, apparently having regained his composure, chuckled, the vibrations teasing. He whispered, "I said, _don't fuck with me,_ Hadley." He twisted Draco's wrist painfully. "I know exactly what your type is like. I don't know what you thought you might gain by getting me here, but whatever it was, it's not going to work. Do your job, and get out of town. Just leave me the hell alone while you're doing it." He stood up from the table and stalked to the bar to pay.

Draco slumped back in his seat, still reeling from both the ache in his wrist and the unexpected sensuality. He certainly hadn't seen that one coming. Potter was most definitely going to have to pay for that. Still breathing faster than usual, Draco slipped out of his seat and made his way to the toilet.

After several minutes of splashing water on his face at the sink, Draco had finally calmed down enough to return to the bar. By the time he got there, Potter was gone. In his place, there was a young man leaning up against the bar and talking animatedly to Blaise.

The man, who appeared to be several years younger than Draco, was of average height with light brown hair and eyes almost exactly the same colour. Draco eyed him up and down, not even pretending that he was doing anything else. The man was lean and broad-shouldered. His nose, which turned up ever so slightly at the end, was crooked, but not in a way that suggested it had been broken. In fact, everything about him had the air of one raised in privilege.

In that moment, still feeling the after-effects of his encounter with Potter, Draco determined that he was badly in need of a distraction. When Blaise looked up, catching Draco's eye and motioning him over, Draco steeled his resolve and determined to make the most of the rest of his night.


	7. Trouble in Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Everything still belongs to other people who actually get paid.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of sex-related themes, bit of fluff and OOC-ness.
> 
> A/N: Fixed a couple of errors in this chapter.

Draco woke slowly the next morning, full of the memory of the previous night. His date, Kellen Bundy, had turned out to be the new Potions teacher at Hogwarts. As young as he looked, he was actually only about three years younger than Draco himself. He was spending most of his summer in and out of Hogsmeade, where he currently resided, but he travelled frequently to continue his studies in Italy and France. He had assured Draco that he was not interested in a long-term relationship, as both his own education and his work at the school took up the bulk of his time.

They hadn't done what Draco considered much after a few drinks in the pub; just some snogging, and Draco had let Kel suck him off. He had been surprised that Kel seemed to have quite a lot of experience in that department. Draco tried not to consider that too carefully, as he was fairly certain he didn't want to know where a Hogwarts teacher acquired such skills. While he hoped it wasn't with underage students, the idea of learning from the other professors—most of whom were nearly thrice Kel's age and had been Draco's own teachers—was equally off-putting.

Shoving those thoughts from his mind, Draco stretched and yawned, cracking his neck slightly in the process. He rose from the bed to have a shower before going about his day.

When Draco at last emerged downstairs, Blaise greeted him cheerfully, a knowing look in his eye. Draco ignored this; he wasn't interested in having a conversation about what he and Kel got up to the previous night. Fortunately, Blaise was a good enough friend not to pry. Instead, he turned his attention to Draco's actual reason for being in Hogsmeade.

"You might want to have a plan in mind, mate. People are talking about those adverts you put up the other day."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Saw them when I was out sending this morning's post. Go look."

Draco stepped out into the street and hiked back down the hill. When he rounded the corner, he saw that Blaise had been right. People were clustered about one of the street-lamps where an advert hung. Listening in on their conversations, it quickly became clear to Draco that several people had wanted to take up the problem with the Town Councillor and had called for an assembly. One of the men appeared to be explaining to the others what was going on, urging them to join him for the meeting.

A good number of residents and business owners were already on their way to the Three Broomsticks to discuss the matter. Thinking fast, Draco Accio'd his broomstick and followed the crowd.

Inside the Three Broomsticks, the Town Councillor stood up among the assembled witches and wizards. Draco nearly groaned. H wasn't sure which Weasley it was, he only knew it wasn't the one who had been his year at Hogwarts, nor his father. This one appeared considerably older than the one, but clearly much younger than the other. However, there was absolutely no mistaking his resemblance to his family. With a start, Draco realised that this was the same one he had seen outside Potter's shop a few days prior.

The problem looked to be a matter of whether the Councillor would insist on taking down the adverts and shutting down the flight school before it happened. The villagers seemed to be split on the matter. Many were curious, but some of them, especially older residents, were wary. They spent a good thirty minutes arguing over the issue.

This was where Draco came in. He stood up and cleared his throat loudly enough to draw attention. Heads swivelled in his direction. Councillor Weasley raised his brows in surprise, but made no attempt to silence Draco.

"Friends, I have only just arrived here, and already I have seen the problem. It's obvious to me that what this village needs is something to occupy the children. You don't feel safe letting them out of your sight, but this isn't good for them." There was a gasp from the crowd, but Draco held up his hands. "I'm sure your decision to shelter them was made with the best of intentions. Even so, it would appear that the consequences were not taken into account."

A murmur rippled through the room. This was exactly what Draco had been hoping for. He continued, "It's one thing to protect your children. It's another to shelter them so that they never have the chance to explore their world. Once they grow up, the incautious among them are likely to wonder if anything we've told them is true or if it's only founded on fear. When they enter the world at large, they will lose all their caution, even among Muggles. We will be at risk of exposure by those who think their families lied to them about the the dangers." He could clearly see heads nodding, so he pressed on.

"I have come to offer an alternative. I propose that what our children need is a new pastime, something fresh to relieve their fears and teach them that our world still has something of value for them." Draco produced his broomstick. "This, right here, is a world-class stunt broom. If you follow me, I will demonstrate its use."

For a moment, no one moved. Then a couple of the older children got up from their seats. Parents, reluctant to allow their children to follow a stranger, came behind them.

Draco led the villagers out into the field beyond the main street. Most of them had seemed wary when he'd invited them to come for the demonstration, but as they gathered, Draco could sense them warming to the idea. He motioned to everyone to pay attention and announced that he would be demonstrating some skills. He held his broomstick gently, remembering what it had felt like to fly the other day. Gracefully, he mounted and took off.

The Razor Edge wasn't built for speed, but for skill. Draco took his time, looping in slow circles, picturing in his mind the complicated turns. He hovered for a moment, then entered a forward-momentum spiral roll, angled toward the ground. At the last moment, he pulled out of the roll and pointed the tip of the broomstick upward, stopping short of hitting the ground.

Draco took off again, performing several of his preferred loops and flips. The crowd responded favourably, oohing and aahing in appreciation. He ended the demonstration with one of his best, hanging upside down with one leg secured around the broomstick, simply suspended in mid-air, before flipping himself upright and diving downward, once more pulling up short just before impact.

Panting, he dismounted. He felt all the tension leave his shoulders, leaving only the exhilaration of the ride. He leaned his broom against a shrub.

As the applause began to die down, he held up his hand. "I want you to imagine a dozen people, all performing the stunts simultaneously. What a spectacular show!"

The crowd buzzed excitedly. Draco took advantage of the movement to call out that if anyone was interested in signing up, they should bring their children to be measured for broomsticks and robes. He explained that payment was due at the time of joining. About two thirds of the families in attendance queued up beside him.

Draco withdrew a measuring tape from inside his robes and set it to begin sizing the children. He pulled out a quill and parchment, taking notes as the tape measure squealed out its findings. Beside each marking, he noted the child's name and age. He collected the money from their parents.

When he was finished, he folded up the parchment and put it back in his bag, along with the tape measure and the sackful of money he had collected. He began gathering his possessions. When he looked up, he saw that someone was watching him.

Leaning against a tree, just beyond the fence surrounding the Shack, was Potter. His arms were folded across his chest, his ankles crossed. He looked casual, but there was something vaguely menacing about him that made Draco shudder. He tried to shake it off, but apprehension clung to him, causing his stomach to twist. He debated whether or not he should approach or simply leave well enough alone.

Potter pushed himself away from the tree and stepped toward Draco, who resisted the urge to back away. Something told Draco that the next time he wouldn't be let off with a slight flush and a sore wrist. He stayed put, eyeing Potter warily.

"Nice stunts. That what you'll be teaching these kids?"

"Well, they won't learn that in a single summer, will they? But yes, that's the idea."

"I'm keeping an eye on you."

"You do that, Mr. Potter."

With a slight grunt, Potter turned and stalked away. He obviously possessed more self-control than Draco had given him credit for. Draco had been expecting fallout of epic proportions, yet all he received was a stern warning—no mention of what had happened at dinner.  Yet something in the way Potter was attempting to indimidate him made one thing clear.  It startled Draco to realise that as much as Potter had affected him, he was getting under Potter's skin as well—something he'd sorely missed over the last fifteen years. A tiny fire ignited in him, burning with pleasure at knowing that he hadn't lost his touch. He reminded himself that Potter certainly deserved to feel discomfited after what he'd done to Draco the previous night.

Draco collected his broomstick and his lists, ready to leave the field. He spent the rest of the day milling about the village, stopping in at various shops and making small talk with the people working there. At every opportunity, he mentioned that he would be teaching flight school to the children. At least a half dozen more signed up. When all was said and done, Draco had twenty-five children measured for broomsticks and robes.

Even so, at the end of the afternoon, it wasn't the sales or the flight that was on Draco's mind. He couldn't escape the image of Potter, leaning against that tree, watching him. He berated himself mentally for allowing Potter to take up space in his brain. That just wouldn't do when he had so much else to think about.

He decided to send Kel an owl instead.


	8. The Madder but Wiser Wizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no claim on them, save my twisted imagination.
> 
> Warnings: Rude words. Children.
> 
> A/N: For no good reason, this is my favorite chapter.

Flying again on Saturday had been beyond exhilarating. Draco had always loved flying; there was something liberating about being high in the air. Ever since his first time on a broom, flight had held power over him. If he were honest with himself, he had to acknowledge that he hadn't been a spectacular Quidditch player. It had always irked him that Potter was a far superior seeker, but that was more because he hated Potter beating him at anything than jealousy over Potter's Quidditch skills. However, Potter had been merely fast; he was no match for Draco when it came to slick manoeuvres.

Draco was still feeling good from his wind-blown high when he re-entered the Silver Quill on Monday. His intent was mostly to look through the books on broom flight whilst simultaneously working on a new angle to draw Potter in. He certainly wasn't going to allow Potter to reject him so easily.

The bell tinkled, and Potter looked up from the desk. He rolled his eyes. "You again."

"I believe we got off to a bad start. I want to make it up to you." Draco offered his most charming smile.

"I think you can accomplish that by keeping your distance, thanks," Potter said.

"You did say I was welcome to look at the flight books, did you not?"

"Provided that's all you're looking at."

Draco felt his heart rate increase a fraction. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you do." Potter lowered his voice. "Don't think I didn't notice."

Draco fought to keep his composure. "That was your fault."

" _My_ fault? A few foreign words and _you_ were the one ready to jump on me in a public—"

"I seem to recall you enjoying yourself," Draco replied in an attempt to turn the conversation around.

"I seem to recall faking it and nearly breaking your wrist. Listen, I don't care if you want to purchase books here, just keep in mind that's all your taking out of my shop."

Draco put his hand up. "I'm sorry that things ended badly. I would have been content to keep it friendly, you know."

Potter just stared at him for a moment, his lips slightly parted in a tiny _O_ of angry surprise. " _Ended badly?_ How the hell was I supposed to know that you would find Parseltongue _hot_? I've only ever met a handful of people who weren't intimidated, and none of them were _aroused_ by it."

Draco pondered that momentarily. The last time he'd heard Potter use Parseltongue, Draco had been twelve. He wasn't old enough to feel anything other than fascination, and he'd been savvy enough to pretend to be as horrified as his schoolmates. He supposed that Potter was likely counting the Dark Lord among those unfazed by the strange language; envisioning him aroused by _anything_ was enough to cause Draco to wince in disgust.

"Well, maybe you haven't been using it on the right people," Draco finally said.

Potter leaned across the desk, his face entirely too close to Draco's. His voice was low, and he was nearly, but not quite, hissing as he said, "Maybe you're right."

Draco swallowed. "Don't."

Potter chuckled and backed off, turning away from Draco; he obviously wasn't going to give in. Draco decided to leave it there and wandered over to the shelves on Quidditch. There were all the standard favourites, of course. Team books and exercises, history and basic rules. Draco wasn't interested in any of these. He was looking for books with innovative moves that could be applied to formation flight.

It didn't matter, really. Being able to fly like the Winged Wolves, the only professional flight team he'd ever seen, was a childish fantasy. Still, he might as well purchase the books.

While Draco was browsing, several more people entered the shop. He looked up and nearly dropped the book he was holding. Casually, he opened the book at random and pretended to be reading.

Peering over the top of the book, Draco inspected the woman standing just inside the door. Hermione Granger had hardly changed in the fifteen years since he'd seen her last. The only noticeable difference was that she had now tamed her bushy hair into a bun severe enough to rival Professor McGonagall's. Otherwise, she had remained much the same.

With her were two children. Draco recognised the girl as the same one he'd seen the night he met Potter for dinner. The boy appeared to be several years younger. He looked almost exactly like his sister but for one thing: his wickedly red hair. _Of course_ , Draco thought. He recalled that Potter had called the girl something-or-other Weasley. He shuddered slightly.

Granger was all business, as usual. She marched straight to the desk. "Have those summer reading books come in yet?" she asked.

Potter reached under the desk and produced a stack of books. "Here you go. This is everything, but I'm sure you will want to add to the pile." There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, but Granger didn't appear to have noticed. Behind his book, Draco smiled. Potter could be subtle after all, he noted.

"Naturally. No sense in being behind just because they're immersed in the wizarding world all summer."

Potter's mouth twitched ever so slightly. "Erm, yes. Of course." He turned to the younger of the children. "Hugo, if you really do read all these books your mum is buying, I'll get you that broomstick I promised you and teach you how to fly it."

The boy looked horror-struck and ducked behind his mother's robes. Potter's eyes widened in surprise, and his gaze met Granger's.

The girl, whom Draco now remembered was called Rose, rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid, Uncle Harry," she said, taking a rather superior tone. It amused Draco how much she sounded like her mother. "Everyone knows Hugo is practically a squib. He doesn't want to do anything magical."

Granger shushed Rose. "And don't call Uncle Harry stupid. That's not polite."

"Not to mention that it's your job," Potter muttered. He turned back to Hugo. "What's this about not wanting to fly?"

Hugo just shook his head and buried his face in Granger's side. She stroked the top of his head and said, "He still hasn't shown any sign of magic," she said. "I don't know whether it's fear or if he really can't do any of it."

"Still?" Potter asked. Granger nodded.

 _Now, that's interesting_ , Draco thought. _There's potential there._

He lowered the book and stepped out from between the shelves. Approaching Granger he said, "I couldn't help overhearing that this young man doesn't want to fly." He crouched down so that he was at eye level with the boy.

Hugo peeped cautiously around his mother, his right eye fixed on Draco. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Well, you're in luck. I'm looking for kids who don't like to fly."

The boy raised his eyebrows, then came slowly out from behind Granger. "You…you are?" he asked.

Draco nodded. "I certainly am. You see, I'm working on a new method of teaching kids to use broomsticks where they don't even get on one." He tapped the side of his head. "It's all up here, everything you need to know about flying."

By this time, Hugo had come around to stand in front of Draco. "Will you show me?" he whispered.

Draco winked. "Certainly. Why don't you come to the field behind the Shrieking Shack this Saturday at two?" He held out his hand to Hugo, who shook it. Draco then turned his attention to the girl. "Miss Weasley, it's good to see you again. I didn't see you at the meeting at the weekend."

Potter, who had come up behind Rose, said, "That's because I told them not to."

"I see." Draco looked at Granger. "I assume they have your permission to come?"

She looked to Potter, who shrugged, though his expression was hard. She replied, "Yes."

"Good, I'll see you there."

Granger still looked wary. "We will see you on Saturday, then, Mr…"

"Hadley. Todd Hadley." He took her hand and brought it to his lips. It may have been Granger, but he _had_ been raised with manners.

She flushed. "Mr. Hadley." She withdrew her hand. "Good afternoon," she said. "Bye, Harry. See you for dinner?"

"Of course," Potter said.

Once they were out of the shop, Potter rounded on Draco. "What the hell was that?" he hissed so ferociously Draco thought he might have lapsed into Parseltongue again.

"Just doing my job, Mr. Potter," Draco said smoothly.

"Well do it somewhere else, why don't you? I'd prefer that you didn't come into _my_ shop, bothering _my_ customers with your more-than-likely ridiculous products."

Draco smiled. "Jealous?"

"What, of you?" Potter snorted. "Yes. I'm horribly jealous. I only wish I had your talents."

Draco glared at him. "You might be, when you see the kind of results I achieve, Potter."

Potter merely stared at him. "Don't make my godson into a pawn in your games, Mr. Hadley."

Draco shrugged. "No pawns. No games. Just the knowledge that my methods work, and you'll be eating your words in no time."

Potter softened a little. "I've never seen Hugo approach anyone, let alone a virtual stranger, like that," Potter said, shaking his head. "You must have made an impression on him."

Draco's curiosity got the better of him. "Why's he like that? So fearful, I mean? What happened to the W—his father?"

A strained look crossed Potter's face. "There was an accident. Ron and his brother were testing some of their products, some things that might be useful for playing Quidditch in inclement weather. Something went wrong, and Ron was injured. Hugo was with him when it happened."

"Is he—is he—" Draco couldn't quite ask the question. He hadn't cared for Weasley, but he wasn't heartless enough to wish a boy fatherless.

Potter shook his head. "No. He was at St. Mungo's for a long time, though. In the end it left him with something like a permanent jellylegs jinx. It's not bad all the time, but it's enough that he doesn't get around well without help."

"But…couldn't they do something?"

"Magic can only do so much," Potter said. He sighed. "I know you think you're doing the right thing, saving Hugo from becoming non-magical and winding up in the Muggle world. But our world has its dangers too." He turned to collect a stack of books from under the desk.

"Potter, wait." Draco wasn't sure how to respond next, so he said the only thing that came to mind. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No, of course not," Potter said, his expression puzzled. "How could you have? Listen, I'm going to offer you some trust for now. Just don't do anything stupid, or I will hold you responsible for any further pain you cause that boy. Understand?"

"Perfectly," Draco responded. He plunked his money on the counter, collected his purchase, and exited the shop without wasting time on Potter's reaction.


	9. Talk Is Cheap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Alas, none of them belong to me.
> 
> Warnings: Vicious gossip.
> 
> A/N: I hope you enjoy this. Hm...wonder whether the rumours are true.

On his way back to the Hog's Head, Draco was stopped by three members of the Weasley clan whom he recognized by their striking resemblance to both one another and to Hugo. He groaned inwardly. It was just his luck that they were on his tail. Mustering as much politeness as he could, he turned to face them.

"Gentlemen, good afternoon. What can I do for you?"

The first one, the one who looked rather bookish, cleared his throat. "I'm sure that you're aware that our brother is the Town Councillor. He—ahem—sent us to, ah, um. What I'm trying to say is…"

"What he's trying to say, and doing a rather poor job of it," cut in the tallest of the three, "is that we need to make sure that you're not bothering Harry."

"I was getting to that," the first one said hotly. He turned back to Draco. "I'm sure that you're aware that Harry has worked hard to settle into a quiet life. Your presence here constitutes a threat to his peaceful existence. According to Ministry Regulation Number…"

The third one interrupted, "We don't need all the details, Percy. Mr. Hadley, all we need is some proof that you're not a rabid fan here to make trouble for him."

Draco felt himself beginning to panic. _Of course_ Potter had protection from the Ministry of Magic. He had to think fast.

"Gentlemen, of course. I'm staying just there, at the Hog's Head. Why don't you join me for a drink and we can have a chat."

Two out of the three of them shrugged, glancing at each other. The short, stocky one said, "I could go for a pint."

But Specky Weasley shook his head. "This is entirely improper. We can surely accompany Mr. Hadley to the Hog's Head without stopping inside. I am certain that he can give us what we need while we wait."

"Of course I can! But what better way for you to tell me more about your village and the people in it than sitting down together for some refreshments?"

The other two seemed to agree. Being outvoted, Specky Weasley had no choice but to agree. Reluctantly, he followed the rest.

Along the way, they met up with a group of witches, their arms laden with packages from several of the shops along the High Street. They were chattering warmly. When they spotted Draco, their talk turned to giggling and pointing.

When they saw that Draco had seen them, they crossed the street to where he stood with the three Weasleys. One of the women, who was wearing bright purple robes, stepped forward. "Mr. Hadley!" she gushed. "We were just talking about you. Mrs. Weasley—that is, Councillor Weasley's wife—was sharing with us the other day that you've been in at the Silver Quill. You must have met Mr. Potter, then?"

Yet another Mrs. Weasley? How bloody many of them were there? Draco suppressed the urge to ask that question aloud and answered, "Yes, of course. Mr. Potter seems to be a pleasant sort of fellow."

"A 'pleasant sort of fellow'? You must not have heard what people say about him!" Mrs. Purple Robes said, sounding surprised. "I know he's the former hero of the wizarding world and all, but really!"

Draco looked from one woman to another in confusion. So far, he had heard nothing at all about Potter, other than what little Blaise had shared.

Mrs. Purple Robes leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, surely you know why he didn't marry the Weasley girl."

"Yes, I'd heard that," Draco said, not bothering to conceal his impatience. "I'm not sure what you're on about."

"Well, when she caught him cheating on her, she refused to tell anyone with whom she saw him. Everyone has their theories, everything from one of poor Ginny's brothers—” she looked briefly at Draco’s companions, shrugged, and continued, “—to a former Death Eater." She glanced around. " _We_ think they're all wrong, of course. The real story is that he was cheating on her with a—" she lowered her voice "— _muggle_."

The other witches gave appropriately scandalised gasps.

A woman in scarlet robes added, "And the proof of that, of course, is the sorts of books he sells in that shop of his." The others nodded vigorously.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Not that he didn't agree with them, at least to a point, but the whole conversation seemed irrelevant. "Ladies, I don't mean to be rude. But I fail to see what this has to do with me."

"We think perhaps you should be more careful with whom you spend your time, that's all—especially if you're among the children. Perhaps you'd like to hear the rest of the story?"

Draco did not, in fact, want to hear the story. He had spent the last fifteen years avoiding precisely that. There had been a time when he would have relished a bit of juicy gossip about Potter, of course. But that had been a time when he could use it to his advantage.

That thought made Draco pause for a moment, considering. He might be able to turn this conversation in his favour after all. Asking Potter directly for his help hadn't gone well; perhaps having something to hold over his head might be more useful. Not only that, he might be able to wiggle out of his current predicament with the Weasleys in the process. He turned to look at the three men, still standing around him.

The tall one looked positively livid. "Ladies, we have some business with Mr. Hadley. I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than spreading vicious gossip about Harry Potter."

Mrs. Purple Robes turned to Tall Weasley. "I don't see how you can defend Mr. Potter after what he put your family through."

"While I appreciate your concern, you might want to rethink whether or not you know anything at all about my family and what we have or haven't been through." Tall Weasley stepped toward her.

She huffed indignantly. "Well, if it had been _my_ sister…anyway, back to my tale." The other women came in closer as she lowered her voice. Draco leaned in to hear. "Back some years ago, before Old Aberforth retired, he used to entertain Mr. Potter at the Hog's Head. Mr. Potter had a lifetime of free drinks, owing to his victory over He Who Shall Not Be Named."

"I think it's safe to name him now," Stocky Weasley said dryly.

Mrs. Purple Robes grunted a little and continued. "Anyway, when Aberforth retired, he sold the Hog's Head. But he also owned the building that is now the Silver Quill. He never sold that building, just gave it to Mr. Potter, along with an extensive collection of Muggle books. Imagine! _Muggle books_. And the strangest ones, too—full of their quaint and curious ideas about what the magical world is like."

"And?" Draco asked.

"And? What do you mean, _and_? There's no _and_. Even when Aberforth was still living here, everyone was suspicious of his relationship with Mr. Potter."

"Just what sort of relationship would that be? Sounds to me like Aberforth was trying to make sure he stayed on the good side of the local hero."

"One would think. But I think—" Mrs. Purple Robes pressed forwards and whispered, "—there was a lot more to it than that. Those late-night meetings? Sneaking away to visit him? There's more than one way to be on the good side of the local hero, Mr. Hadley."

"Are you saying they were intimate?"

She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly. "I'm saying that no one really knows, and Mr. Potter isn't saying either way."

"I suppose," Draco said slowly, "that it isn't much of a stretch. We all do things we later regret, no?"

The witches nodded solemnly. Mrs. Purple went on with her tale. "After that, Mr. Potter moved here permanently. He maintains his property in London as well. It wasn't until later that he and Ms. Weasley ended their engagement." She leaned back in satisfaction at completing her sordid tale. "Of course, having his house in London gave him ample access to Muggles, and a place in which to entertain them."

All three of the Weasleys were now glaring. The stocky one said, "There is absolutely no real evidence that Harry was behaving inappropriately. I certainly hope, madam, that you are not telling these stories all over town."

"We would appreciate if the lot of you would clear off so we can get back to what we were doing," added the tall one.

The witches looked about to begin a genuine argument with the three Weasleys. For a few minutes, Draco just stood there. Then, very slowly, he began to inch backwards, out of the pack of people. He intended to sneak away from the group, leaving them discussing whether or not the scandalous behaviour of the Boy Who Lived to Be Gossipped About was true.

Unfortunately for Draco, Stocky Weasley caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. "Hang on a moment," he said.

Draco stopped, waiting. The witches were finally leaving. When they were out of sight, Specky Weasley turned to Draco.

"My apologies," he said.

"What in Merlin's name was that all about?"

"Oh, them?" Tall Weasley cocked his head in the direction the witches had gone. "They come up with a new addition to their story every week. It's quite ridiculous, all the sh—erm, rubbish they spread."

"We would appreciate if you would keep this to yourself. No need for this gossip to get out of hand."

Draco pondered briefly then said, "I'm sure you're right. But if I were, in fact, a 'rabid fan', as you put it, I might require some incentive for keeping the conversation quiet."

The three Weasleys exchanged glances. Draco hid a smirk. It was no longer a question of whether or not they would leave him alone to conduct his business.

As predicted, Stocky Weasley said, "All right. We'll make a deal. You won't spread the rumours, and we won't interfere with your work. Fair enough?"

"Absolutely."

The men took their leave, returning to the centre of the village. Draco continued on his way back to the Hog's Head.

On the walk back up the hill, Draco wondered how much of what the women had said was true. He was surprised that there was anyone left who didn't think the sun rose and set on the Conquering Hero, aside from himself. Back in his younger years, Draco would have been more than happy to believe the rumours without question—and likely continue to spread them. Now, he only felt confused. What did Potter think he had to prove, and what was he escaping by trapping himself in this town with people who kept watch on his every move in order to fuel their gossip?

Draco cursed himself for getting lost in thoughts about Potter and what he had or hadn't been up to. He contented himself with being grateful that Potter's alleged indiscretions allowed him to escape safely from the clutches of Potter's ginger bodyguards. He could figure out what to do with his newly acquired information another time.


	10. Teddy the Troublemaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Wish I'd thought of them first. *grumbles*
> 
> Warnings: Obnoxious adolescent prank; Bill Weasley not exactly at his finest.
> 
> A/N: The prank was a suggestion from a friend who used to do some pretty crazy things herself (though not usually involving pyrotechnics).

It would take at least two weeks for the broomsticks to arrive and a few more after that for the robes. Draco settled into a comfortable pattern of visiting the shops, spending time at the Hog's Head, and talking to the villagers. Naturally, he managed to squeeze in a visit or several to the Silver Quill—for the sake of looking through the Quidditch books, of course, not to see Potter.

There were a fair few children around now; they followed him nearly everywhere. It wasn't entirely unwelcome—after all, he was supposed to have been teaching them how to fly. He was merely surprised that their parents had begun to let them out again. Draco decided that the adults obviously thought they were his charges. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Draco's frequent browsing in the Silver Quill appeared at first to cause considerable consternation on Potter's part. There was something that felt _right_ to Draco about being able to get under his skin like that. He had missed it, somehow. And if he was spending some of his time just watching Potter at work, half-admiring his ease with the people who came in, what difference did that make? Draco convinced himself that he was simply biding his time, looking for an opportunity to use the gossip he'd heard from those witches.

The blue-haired boy that Potter referred to as Teddy was in as often as Draco. Sometimes he came with the other boys; other times, he was alone. Draco wondered where his parents were, as he never seemed to be with any adults.

One quiet, hot afternoon, Draco was enjoying a few rare moments of solitude by strolling along the High Street, trying to decide whether or not to visit the Silver Quill again. As Draco approached, Potter was just leaving his shop for lunch. As he pulled the door to and locked it, a mighty BOOM shook the buildings. Startled, Potter dropped his keys.

Draco reached down for them. Straightening up, he passed the keys to Potter. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

Potter shook his head. "Dunno. But if I were a betting man, I'd put my money on Teddy having something to do with it."

Sure enough, as the two men turned back toward the street, Teddy and three other boys came pelting up the road, laughing. Chasing after them was the Town Councillor.

He looked particularly angry. His face was red and contorted with rage, and he appeared unable to speak. As the boys closed in on them, Potter twitched his wand and muttered something Draco didn't catch. At the same moment, Draco, unthinking, pulled out his as well, murmuring a hasty, " _Incarcerous_."

The spells hit Teddy simultaneously. He found himself both bound with ropes and thrust into the air, head down and feet up. The other boys continued up the street but stopped when they realised Teddy had been caught.

"Teddy! What is going on?" Potter demanded.

By this time, Councillor Weasley had caught up with them. He was panting. "Harry. You—have got—to get—control of him. I mean it."

"What did he do this time?"

"From the looks of it, nicked nearly every explosive available at Wheezes, and set them off behind my house!" He looked nearly ready to strangle Teddy.

Potter glared at Teddy. "Is that about right?"

Teddy held his chin up, his eyes hard. "We didn't steal those fireworks. We bought them," he said defiantly.

Draco turned away, coughing slightly in a weak attempt to conceal his amusement. Potter frowned at him. "Look, Bill, can I speak to you a moment?" He cancelled his spell and pulled the very angry Councillor Weasley away, leaving Teddy to drop unceremoniously onto the ground, still bound with his arms pinned to his sides.

Teddy glared up at Draco and said, "You can let up now. I'm not going anywhere."

" _Finite incantatum._ What was that all about?"

Rubbing his shoulder where he had hit, Teddy pulled a face. "Aw, we were just having fun. There's nothing to do around here."

"Why weren't you there for the flight demonstration then, if you're so bored?"

"That's for little kids. I already know how to fly."

"Surely," Draco agreed. "But we need kids like you who can help coach the younger ones. I can't do it all alone, and eventually, I will have to leave."

"What's your point?"

"You're obviously a natural leader. I could use your help with the smaller children."

Teddy appeared to be thinking it over. At last he said, "I guess I could manage that. What do you want me to do?"

"First, I need you to promise me that you won't set off anymore fireworks in anyone's back garden."

Teddy huffed. "Why do you care what I do?"

"I don't, really, but I'd rather not have to deal with explaining to the parents why I'm letting a delinquent near their precious babies."

"Fine. Then what?"

"Then meet me tomorrow morning behind the Shrieking Shack. I'll teach you my method, and you can help me out. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

By this time, the others had returned. Councillor Weasley looked a bit less red in the face, but he was still scowling. Potter looked harassed.

Councillor Weasley got up close to Teddy. "I expect better of you, Teddy. Stay out of my back garden from now on. And if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from my daughter, too." He backed off and turned away from them, walking briskly back down the street.

Potter shook his head. "Teddy, we've talked about this before. If you keep pulling these stunts when you go back to school, you're not going to last long." He sighed. "Go home. Just…go home."

For the first time, Teddy looked abashed at the disappointment in Potter's voice. "I wasn't trying to hurt anyone."

"I know," Potter told him. "But you're not doing yourself any good by making Bill upset. It's hard enough, with so much fear still hanging on. Don't make it worse."

While they stood there talking, three girls came around the corner, chattering and laughing. When they saw Teddy, they stopped. One of the girls leaned over to whisper to the others, who giggled madly.

Draco smirked. It was good to see that some things never changed. Adolescent girls were no more mature than they'd been when he was that age. A thought occurred to him. He approached the trio.

"Excuse me, young ladies," he said, adopting his polite air. "Where are you headed?"

The girl with the long, blonde hair, the one who had been in Potter's shop that first day, gave her most charming smile. "We were going to see if Harry's shop was still open." She looked questioningly at Potter. "But you've already closed for lunch."

Draco fumbled in his pockets for a moment, then drew out a handful of galleons. He turned to Teddy and said, "Here. Why don't you take—what’s your name?"

"Victoire," she replied.

"—Victoire to Madame Pudifoot's for a bit while you wait. Then you can escort her back here."

Victoire giggled. Teddy flushed and accepted the money. Draco placed her arm in his, sending them on their way. The other girls, down a friend, continued up the street, stealing backward glances at Teddy and Victoire as they went.

Draco turned to Potter, who was standing there, open-mouthed. "What—what was that?" Potter choked.

"That boy obviously needs someone to look out for him. Where on earth are his parents?"

Potter's lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. "His parents are dead," he said shortly.

Surprised, Draco asked, "Then with whom does he live?"

"Until last summer, he was living with his grandmother. But she passed away. Now he lives with me." Potter pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up slightly. "It hasn't been easy for him. He didn't transition well to living here."

"Good god, is everyone in this town mental?" Draco exclaimed.

Potter, startled, gave a slight jump. Then he started laughing. "Yes. Yes, I suppose we are," he said, grinning.

"Well, with any luck, I've set him on track, at least for the moment," Draco said.

"Oh, really? Think you've got him figured out, I suppose. Tell me, how _does_ one go about solving a problem like Teddy?"

"I've given him a job. He needs something to do, something to make himself useful. And I've sent him on a date, of course."

Potter snorted. "I suppose so. But you might want to be more… _selective_ about the dates you set him up with."

"Why's that?"

"You just sent him to Madame Puddifoot's with Bill Weasley's daughter."


	11. The Exstomency System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own lots of things. These characters, etc. are not among them.
> 
> Warnings: Fluff and longing
> 
> A/N: Oh, dear. Can our lovely young man possibly be smitten? Past the halfway mark, folks.

The following day, Draco arrived early to the field behind the Shrieking Shack. He breathed in the cool morning air, relishing the feel of the ground fog against his skin. He had always loved this hour because it was so full of promise. It was unfortunate that the majority of the time, the hopes of early morning gave way to the realities of the rest of the day.

This was going to be difficult. Draco was used to running the show on his own, but he could see the potential benefit to having an ally. It would take a bit more planning, but he was confident that he could work it to his advantage. If he couldn't have Potter, then he could at least have Teddy.

When Teddy arrived, the first thing he did was flop down in the grass, lace his fingers behind his head, and grin up at Draco. "So, what's the plan?"

"First of all, I would prefer that you demonstrate a bit more respect. I asked you here today because I believe you have potential. Don't prove me wrong."

The boy sat up, scowling. "Potential for what?"

Settling down next to Teddy, Draco chose not to answer the question directly. Instead, he said, "You want people to notice you, to think you're special. You've lived your whole life in the shadow of people who don't—or can't—give you what you need. You're ambitious. But so far, you've gone about it in all the wrong ways. You've attracted negative attention."

Judging by the deepening frown on Teddy's face, Draco had hit his mark. Teddy appeared to be trying hard not to respond, but his curiosity won out. "And you know all this because…"

 _Because I've done the same things_ , Draco thought. "You'll just have to trust me on this one."

Teddy eyed Draco suspiciously. "And you think you can help me, right?" He made an impatient noise. "Yeah, that's pretty much what Harry said, too."

"I'm sure he did. But he seems to think the way to help you is to prove he's your friend, am I right?"

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "How did you—"

Draco held up his hand. "I can see it in the way he reacts to you. You should know, I'm not your friend. I expect things from you. You can learn to be responsible for others, but not before you learn to be responsible for yourself." Draco found himself wishing he had learnt that lesson in his own childhood. He reasoned that it wasn't too late to impart this wisdom to another person, even if he suspected it _was_ too late for himself.

Teddy nodded, absorbing this. "All right. I'll try."

Draco shook his head. "No. You'll do it or you won't, but I'm not going to give you points for effort. Are you in?" He extended his hand.

After a pause, Teddy reached out and took Draco's hand. "I'm in."

"Good. Then let's get started. On your feet."

Draco spent the next hour instructing Teddy in the method he used. It was a version of guided visualisation which involved something like Legilimency, only instead of reading the thoughts inside a person's mind, the trainer introduced new images. Draco would project mental pictures of flight patterns, which the children would then supplant with images of themselves performing them. He referred to the practice as 'Exstomency'.

Originally, he had seen something like it used at St. Mungo's. When his mother had been hospitalised after the War, it was a relatively new treatment. It was used most often on people who were unable to cope or who had lost their memories. The magic had fascinated Draco, and he had wondered at the time if there were any other uses for it.

He had never used it to make sales, though that was hardly a matter of ethics. He certainly would have used it if he could have, but that would have been extraordinarily difficult. For one thing, the magic required a great deal of concentration. It would be nearly impossible to use it on another person without his or her knowledge. For another, it necessitated full cooperation from the other person—he or she had to _already want_ what was being suggested and be able to insert him- or herself into the projection.

It wasn't until stumbling on the idea for the flight school that Draco had been able to find a viable use within his business. He had tried it out on a few test subjects in the last village where he'd stayed, using it to keep them occupied while their parents looked over what he was 'selling'. He had discovered that the children really enjoyed being given mental pictures of themselves in flight. It was too bad that it wasn't a real method of flight instruction; genuine flight required the practise of physical skills.

At present, even before he used Exstomency in larger scale himself, Draco was trying to teach someone else how to do it. It took some time, but he was able to give Teddy a beginning foundation in the exercises. Teddy seemed to be particularly adept at manipulating the images. By the end of the hour, he was able to return a faint image to Draco and sustain it for several seconds.

"Excellent!" Draco was pleased that he had been successful at teaching Teddy the skills. He had never considered himself much of a teacher, though he hadn't had enough prior experience to know one way or the other.

By the time they had finished the lesson, the children were beginning to arrive. As expected, there were a good number of mini-Weasels present among the group. Draco saw the progeny of the Witch Formerly Known as Granger on their way in. He was mildly surprised that Potter was the one who had brought them.

Rose joined the other children immediately; she appeared to fit right in. Hugo, however, hung back, clinging to Potter's hand. He was looking up at Potter with a pleading expression.

Potter turned to face Hugo, kneeling down at the boy's eye level. He laid a hand on the boy's neck and looked directly into his eyes. Potter spoke too softly for Draco to hear whatever it was he said to Hugo, but Hugo nodded. Potter stood and ruffled his hair. Something in those gestures made Draco's insides tighten unexpectedly. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the children milling about and began to organise them.

By the time Draco had the motley bunch under some degree of control, Potter and Hugo had joined them. Draco acknowledged the pair. Briefly, his eyes met Potter's. Understanding flickered between them. Draco knew that Potter was offering tentative trust, and in return, Draco wasn't to break it. For a fleeting moment, Draco's stomach crawled with the knowledge of what he was doing. He shook it off, returning to the task at hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter leaving.  He told himself that he hadn’t needed to show off in front of Potter anyway, even though somehow, he knew that wasn’t the real reason for the disappointment he had to swallow before focusing on the children.

Draco spent the better part of an hour playing around with the images he could send the children. They delighted in seeing themselves zooming around, twirling in the air. Most of them had been on brooms at some point, but the idea that there was more than just hovering a few feet off the ground was exciting.

At one point, Draco's gaze rested on Hugo. The child's eyes were wide with amazement, his lips slightly parted and his chest expanded with the breath he was holding. All at once, his face lit up and he let out a joyful laugh. Draco's chest swelled with something he couldn't quite identify.

When the hour was up, the parents returned to collect their children. Once again, Potter was there to retrieve Rose and Hugo.

As soon as Hugo laid eyes on Potter, he broke out in a wide grin and made a beeline for him. "Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry! You'll never guess what we did. It was _so cool_!"

Potter's full attention was on the boy. "Tell me about it," he suggested.

"We got to see ourselves fly! I mean, really _fly_. Not like how you do. We were doing loops and swoops and…and…it was _amazing_!" He looked as though he might burst.

Potter glanced up at Draco, one eyebrow raised and his mouth quirked upward on one side. "And just how did you do such _amazing_ things without even having a broomstick?"

"Mr. Hadley sent us pictures in our minds. He calls it 'Ex..Exst…Exst-o-men-cy'." He pronounced the word carefully, emphasising the syllables so as to get it right.

"Oh, really? Hm, perhaps I should ask Mr. Hadley about this 'Exstomency'."

"You could always ask me about it over lunch," Draco suggested. The words were out of his mouth before he quite realised what he was suggesting.

Potter shook his head. "I have the children for the rest of the day. Besides, I'm surprised you want another go at having a meal together."

"A chance to make up for the last time."

"You don't give up, do you? I'll pass, thanks. You can just fill me in next time you stop by the shop." He smirked. "I assume you'll be in again, of course."

"Perhaps. But my price for revealing my secrets is still the same—I'll tell you over lunch."

"Mmm. Well, then, I may just have to take Hugo's word for it." Potter turned to Rose. "Go ahead and start walking with your brother. I'll catch you up."

Once Rose and Hugo had gone several metres, Potter said, "I haven't seen Hugo like this since his father's accident. Whatever you're doing, you've given him something to be excited about. Thank you."

Draco wanted to say something back, but the words wouldn't come. He was certain that this was the first time he'd ever heard praise for something he'd done come out of Potter's mouth. Even knowing the compliment was intended for who Potter thought he was, rather than himself, he was still astounded. All he could do in that moment was look into Potter's face, searching for a sign that he had meant what he said. He was taken aback by the earnest look in Potter's bottle-green eyes.

Draco cleared his throat, attempting to regain his footing. "I—"

But Potter just smiled, turning around and jogging across the field toward Rose and Hugo.


	12. Owl Post

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The cast of characters has been brought to you by the letters J and K (Rowling) and the number 12 (cos it's chapter 12, of course).
> 
> Warnings: Crude reference to smut; monogamish-ism
> 
> A/N: I don't get too graphic with the smut in this chapter, but if you don't like knowing more or less what 2 dudes do in bed, skip the over the first part. (Though why the heck you're reading this if you don't want that is anyone's guess.)

The memory of his exchange with Potter lingered into the next day, leaving Draco with an unsettled feeling that he couldn't shake. Draco tried to convince himself that this was likely some sort of residual lust hanging on from Potter's unfortunately timed use of Parseltongue. As such, it could be easily cured by spending time with Kel.

Still, when Kel owled on Sunday night to find out if Draco fancied dinner and a quick shag before Kel left for Paris the next morning, Draco was, if not disappointed, at least short of satisfied. He was no longer certain that he wanted Kel in his bed; everything about their interactions was shallow and meaningless.

Despite his misgivings, Draco agreed to see him—if nothing else, perhaps he could find some measure of relief.  Yet when Kel was face-down on the mattress and Draco was pounding into him, it was not Kel's name that almost escaped his lips as he came. He had to press his mouth into the other man's shoulder to keep from crying out for the wrong person.

Draco's distraction didn't go unnoticed. As Kel got up to dress, he commented, "Bit off tonight?"

"Mmm."

"Is it because I'll be gone so long? No worries if you need to, ah, take care of things with someone else while I'm away."

"I—" Draco didn't want to get into the real reason he hadn't been himself.

Kel eyed him. "You're not going all possessive on me, are you? We both knew this wasn't serious."

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. It actually might be best to leave Kel with the wrong impression. "I know," he said at last.

Kel appeared to be studying Draco, perhaps trying to determine if there was something else. He gathered up his belongings and leaned over to press a hurried kiss on Draco's lips. "All right, then. I'll see you when I get back."

Draco acknowledged Kel's departure, then turned over, pulling up the bedclothes. Despite the evening's activities, he lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep.

* * *

The weather remained fine that week. On Tuesday and Thursday, Draco met the children in the empty field for practice. By the end of the week, many of them were quite good at focusing the images in their minds. All of them were eager to begin what they called 'real' training.

At the end of their session on Thursday, one of the older children asked, "When are the broomsticks coming?"

"They should be here any day now," Draco assured them. "But you won't be able to start flying right away. You'll still need to work on your mind skills." That produced a low, frustrated buzz. Draco held up his hands. "You don't want to develop bad habits you'll have to unlearn. Just trust me." He gave them his most winning smile, and they quieted down.

Truthfully, Draco wasn't sure how he was going to handle things. Usually, he didn't stick around after a sale, as there wasn't a product to deliver. This time, with actual broomsticks on their way, he had to remain where he was. On top of that, he couldn't even skip out after the broomsticks arrived; he had to wait for the uniforms. Unfortunately, that necessitated a plan so the children would be less likely to ask questions.

Even more unfortunately, this bunch of children seemed particularly prone to impatience. The majority were quick to learn to absorb lessons via Exstomency. The rest were…well, they were _Weasleys_ , for Merlin's sake. That was explanation enough for their pushy, nosey lack of manners. Draco was beginning to wonder if he hadn't taken on more than he could handle.

Despite going about his business as usual, Draco was unable to prevent his thoughts from wandering to Potter. He successfully avoided the Silver Quill for most of the week, keeping his distance in the hopes that the feeling would pass. To his consternation, it only left him with a greater desire to do a bit of Potter-stalking.

On Friday, unable to resist any longer, Draco made his way up the High Street. On arrival at the Silver Quill, however, he found a notice that the shop was closed for lunch. Draco ignored the disappointment welling in his chest. As he turned around to walk away, he heard a noise behind him. Before he could react, he was violently shoved aside by a man pointing up into the sky. The man yelled, "Look!"

Draco found himself shuffled to the back of the group. By this time, most of them had turned in the direction the man was indicating. In the sky, there appeared to be a rapidly-moving cloud of some sort. As it drew nearer, Draco could see that it wasn't a cloud at all but something flying.

The same thought had occurred to the rest of the witches and wizards gathered in the centre of the village. For a moment, the crowd held its collective breath. Then, as one, everyone breathed, "Ooooh."

Dozens of owls were approaching, bearing long, thin packages. Each package was carried by several owls. It was quite a sight, even more impressive than the usual mail-time display at Hogwarts had been.

With grace and dignity, the owls deposited their cargo directly where Draco was standing. Without waiting for the other humans to acknowledge them, they took flight once more. All that remained of them were a few feathers.

The crowd began to chatter eagerly as the children moved forward to claim their broomsticks, which Draco handed out to them. In no time, every child had his or her own brand new stunt broom.

As the crowd dispersed, Draco caught sight of Rose and Hugo with their new broomsticks. Rose was beaming and Hugo looked positively radiant. Teddy was with them, admiring the new brooms. When they looked up and caught sight of Draco, the three of them made their way towards him.

"Like them?" Draco asked, indicating the brooms.

"They're beautiful! I can't wait to show Mum. She'll be so pleased!" Rose exclaimed. Hugo just nodded in agreement.

"You on your way somewhere?" Draco asked Teddy.

"I was just going to take these two back home, then come back here to wait for Harry. I wanted to see if he had any books on flight theory."

Draco raised his eyebrows; Teddy appeared to be taking his role quite seriously. If he were honest, Draco wasn't certain whether he was more pleased or unnerved by that. He said, "Excellent! I may join you. I've been hoping to find some books myself."

Draco followed Teddy and the children until they reached Rose and Hugo's cottage. To Draco's surprise, Potter and Granger were outside, talking. When Hugo saw them, he ran straight up to them.

"Look! Isn't this the most wonderful thing ever?" Hugo said, holding out his broomstick for them to admire. "Mum, it even has fancy writing on the side! And it's just my size, too." He was grinning ear to ear.

As Hugo prattled on about his new broomstick, Draco saw Potter and Granger exchange glances. For his part, Draco had never heard Hugo speak so much at one time, even in Exstomency flight lessons. Hugo held out his broom to Potter, who took it gently.

Draco found himself caught up in watching Potter inspect the broom. Something about the way he held it, running his fingers along the handle, did funny things to Draco's insides. He was at once awash in memories of the feel of the wind rushing past and a sleek racing broom underneath him, the smell of the grass and the sky and the Quidditch leather, and the way he never searched for the snitch himself but instead watched Potter searching for it.

Suddenly, he felt himself grabbed about the legs. He looked down to see Hugo peering up at him, his eyes wide. Draco could positively _feel_ the magic around him. He placed a hand gently on Hugo's head.

When he looked up again, Draco caught Potter's eyes. There was understanding behind them, and maybe something else, too—a mix of awe and gratitude and something Draco couldn't identify. He held his breath.

"Mr. Hadley," Granger said.

The moment lost, Draco looked away from Potter, who cleared his throat. Draco answered, "Yes?"

"Thank you. I haven't seen Hugo this excited in a long time. I don't know what to say." Her eyes were bright, holding herself back for the sake of the children. Hope was written all over her face.

"No need to say anything more. You're welcome," Draco replied, strangely warmed by the way Granger was looking at him.

With a glance back at Potter, he realised what it was that he had seen and why he hadn't known what it was. The way Potter had relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, meant that he was _happy_. In not even one of his memories of Potter could Draco recall that particular emotion. As he stood there, it struck Draco that he had been the one to produce that feeling, albeit unintentionally. In that moment, Draco suspected that it might be possible to fly, even without his broomstick.

* * *

On his way back into the village, Draco was stopped by the same women he had previously met in the High Street. He had to work hard to suppress the sigh that threatened to escape.

"Oh, Mr. Hadley! Good thing we ran into you," the plump witch said. This time, she was wearing eye-blistering pink robes.

"Ah, Mrs…"

"Cadwaller, Mr. Hadley."

"Yes, of course. Now, what did you want to speak to me about?"

Mrs. Cadwaller handed him a parchment. "There is an End of Summer festival, and we, the ladies of the committee, would like you to handle the children's entertainment. We all thought that would be a fine time for them to show us what you have been teaching them. Don't you think?"

"Of—of course, ladies," he said, not thinking so at all. "What better way to show everyone what they have worked so hard to learn?" He glanced down at the parchment. On it was the date of the End of Summer Festival and a list of the activities.

"And what will you be doing?"

"We," Mrs. Cadwaller indicated herself that the four others with her, "will be performing an interpretive broom dance."

Draco coughed into his fist. "I look forward to seeing that," he assured them. He made to hand back the parchment.

"No, no. You keep it," Mrs. Cadwaller said. "We will see you then, Mr. Hadley." She and the other witches bustled back up the street.

Draco stared at the bit of parchment in his hand. He saw that the children were already listed at the bottom. _If only it were that simple_ , he thought. _If only it were real_.

He folded the parchment and tucked it away, praying that the robes arrived in time for him to escape before the Festival.


	13. Exstomency for the Unaware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: They were never mine; in this story, they belong to each other.
> 
> Warnings: Fluff 'n' cheese sandwich.
> 
> A/N: I don't know whether to feel sorry for them or hex them until they come to their senses.

By Monday morning, Draco had come to a decision. There was no end to the frustration Draco was feeling. When he arrived in Hogsmeade, he had figured on having a bit of fun, making his last take, and retiring in style. He'd had all weekend to think it over, and now he was reverting to his adolescent self, utterly fixated on Potter and obsessed with winning—though it was of a different sort this time.

He'd always suspected that, despite his flaws, Potter would at least be a good shag. Surely those Quidditch muscles were good for something. Draco was determined to put an end to his nightly Potter-induced dreams by making them reality. This was about satisfying his lust, after all. It had nothing to do with the fact that every time Draco looked at Potter, he felt his chest tighten and his stomach swoop in the very same way that being on a broomstick had always done.

Draco would have to be creative, of course. Potter had offered a measure of trust, but that was about Draco's relationship with Hugo. It was obviously going to take a bit more persuasion than he was accustomed to when it came to getting what he wanted.

On Monday, Draco waited to visit Potter in his shop; he had a plan. If the elusive Mr. Potter wouldn't join him for dinner, then he would have to bring lunch to Mr. Potter. He had carefully packed a picnic basket with everything they would need, then shrunk it down so it would fit inside his robes.

Draco timed his appearance at the shop so that he arrived ten minutes before noon. The shop was busier than usual. As Draco neared, he saw why: Teddy and several of his friends were in there, browsing the Quidditch section. The books they'd been waiting for must have come in.

Potter was behind the desk, waiting for them to make their purchases. Draco approached him. As he passed, Teddy glanced up. He gave Draco a sly grin, which Draco returned.

"Did you miss me?" Draco asked smoothly, leaning on the desk.

Potter snorted. "Yes. I was just thinking, 'Now, where is that rude git who keeps disturbing me at work?'"

Despite Potter's tone, Draco caught the twinkle in his eye. He smirked. "I'll bet. I have something for you."

"Do you?"

"But you can't have it now."

Potter sighed. "Is that supposed to pique my interest?"

"I had hoped so, yes."

"Hm. It might have worked, then."

"Good. You'll have to wait until you close for lunch."

"Is that when you plan to give me this thing you have?"

"Yes. How about in fifteen minutes?"

Potter chuckled. "Fine, Hadley. You win. In fifteen minutes, I will be right here waiting."

"No. In fifteen minutes, you're going to meet me in the field behind the Shrieking Shack."

Potter raised his eyebrows. "Whatever for?"

"It's a surprise." Draco leaned in closer. "Something just for you." He heard Potter's breath hitch just a tiny bit.

Potter cleared his throat. "O—okaaay," he said.

"The Shrieking Shack. Fifteen minutes," Draco said firmly.

"Fifteen minutes," Potter repeated.

Draco backed off, smiling. Potter looked a bit dazed. As Draco reached the door, he heard Potter say very softly, "Oh, gods. What the hell was I thinking?"

Halfway out the door, Draco almost missed Teddy gloating. "Wow, it really works! I was using Mr. Hadley's Exstomency on you from back in the book shelves!"

* * *

While he waited for Potter to arrive, Draco spread out the picnic. He laid a soft blanket on the ground, then began putting out place settings and food. He hadn't missed a single thing.

Potter showed up precisely fifteen minutes after their conversation in the shop. He had shed his work robes and was wearing denims and a soft blue tee. Draco couldn't help thinking there was something appealing about this casual version of Potter.

Draco welcomed Potter to the picnic. They sat down on the blanket, and Draco began serving them. He poured two glasses of a rather expensive wine Blaise had recommended Draco try one evening.

"You've gone to quite a lot of trouble, Mr. Hadley," Potter remarked. "Quite nice of you."

"No need to be so formal," Draco assured him. "You can call me Todd."

"All right, then. Todd it is." Potter paused. "I suppose you can call me Harry."

"As you wish…Harry." It felt strange, Harry's given name rolling off Draco's tongue. He couldn't recall ever having used it before. He had to resist the urge to repeat the name, just to feel the syllables again.

"So, what's the occasion?" Potter asked, breaking into Draco's thoughts.

"Hm?" Draco asked. "Oh, the picnic. Nothing, just that since you won't have dinner with me, I decided I would bring lunch to you."

Potter sighed. "I hope you don't think me rude. You do understand why I wouldn't, don't you?"

"I do. But you should know you're wrong about me."

"I'm beginning to suspect that."

"Besides, you need to stop hiding away in that shop of yours. Why not spend a bit more time out here, with the rest of us?"

"I'm certain you can imagine why."

"I suppose it has something to do with all those rumours about you? The gossip?"

Potter furrowed his brow and looked at Draco sideways. "Sort of." He shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Those nosey old bats fill you in?"

"A bit. Look, we don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay." He pressed his lips together.  “Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Draco closed his eyes for a moment.  _Because it’s you._   He opened his eyes and held Potter’s gaze.  “Because I want to know if what they said was true.”

Potter fiddled with his napkin. "What have you heard?"

"That you had an inappropriate relationship with Aberforth Dumbledore.  That the Wea—Miss Weasley left you because she found you with someone else.  That you have a thing for Muggles.  That sort of thing."

To Draco's surprise, Potter began to laugh. "What's so funny about it?" Draco demanded.

When Potter had calmed down a bit, he explained. "Those rumours—they're not…well, they're not what you think. Ginny and I—we started them."

Draco stared. "What? _You_ started them? _Why?_ "

Potter grew serious. "I didn't start the one about Aberforth. But the other one, that was one Gin and I created together." He cleared his throat. "I knew…for a long time. That I liked men, I mean. So did she, actually, even before I said anything. But because of my…status, and because of her job, we never let on. We covered for each other. Finding out that their hero wasn't going to have a fairy-tale life with a wife and three kids would have put a lot of people off. You saw what that Skeeter woman did to Albus. And Ginny was trying to make it in professional Quidditch. She didn't need to be dogged by rumours about her gay ex before she even had a chance to prove herself."

Draco was interested in spite of himself. "So what did you do?"

"We did what any sensible couple in our position would do. We made shit up." He grinned. "We faked a life together. After we finished training, she with the Harpies, I with the Aurors, she moved in with me. It worked for us. We were the picture of a happy couple, so the media was happy. She was away from the chaos of five brothers, so she was happy. And I didn't care, as long as I could take my time working things out. No one was any wiser." Potter tilted his head to the side. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"Because I asked?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm not usually open about it." He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't put something in that food, did you?"

"No! Of course not. I was never _that_ good at Potions."

"Er...what?"

Realising his mistake, Draco said, "Nothing. Just that I wouldn't be able to sneak anything in, that's all."

Potter relaxed. "All right, then. Anything else you’d like to ask me, or are we done?"

"Many things, but I'll stick to the subject. Were you or the Wea—Ginny seeing anyone else?"

"You _would_ want to know that. Ginny was content to spend most of her time playing Quidditch. She wasn't yet interested in settling down. I think she had a fling or two with fans, but nothing serious. Probably kept them from going to the _Prophet_ by threatening them with a bat-bogey hex. I kept strictly to Muggles."

"Muggles!  So that was true?"

"Sort of, yes. I knew they wouldn't be bothered by the _Prophet_ and the gossip."

"So, what happened?" Draco leaned forward, listening.

Potter shrugged. "Ginny met Blaise. Or rather, became reacquainted with him. With my permission, she let him in on the secret."

"Blaise knew!" Draco exclaimed.

"Well, yes," Potter said, appearing surprised. "Why?"

Draco realised he had almost blown it. "Ah, no reason. Just that he seemed to be happy to spread the rumours."

"We asked him to. By that time, Aberforth had left me the shop. Blaise was about to take over the Hog's Head, and Ginny wanted to settle into marriage. I wanted to move on as well. So we agreed—with Blaise's help—to create a story. It would get all of us what we wanted, without hurting either of them. If she'd left me for him, you see, it would have been terrible for her. After all, who rejects the Saviour of the Wizarding World?"

Draco nodded. He could see how Blaise would have been a willing participant. It was interesting; he now understood why Blaise had stopped working with him. The timing would have been just about right. "Go on," he said.

Potter laughed again. "It was fun, actually. I rather like messing with the media. We let her 'catch' me with someone else. The whole thing was staged. It was Blaise, with a glamour, so there would be photos. After that, I moved here, telling everyone that I needed to get away from the press. In reality, I was simply coming to take care of the shop and help Aberforth put his affairs in order."

"Speaking of Aberforth…"

"Ah, you want to know if I was his toy-boy. Sorry to disappoint you—there's no truth to that one." Potter rolled his eyes. "He was a cranky old man who helped me when I needed it. There was nothing any more inappropriate with him than there had been with Albus. You may recall, Rita Skeeter implied heavily that Albus had been—well. I'm sure you read her book, if you were around that summer." He frowned, refusing to meet Draco's gaze.

Draco had not, in fact, read the book. He had been a bit preoccupied, as that had been the summer the Dark Lord had taken up residence in his home. He said none of this, however; he merely nodded.

"And the Muggle books?"

Potter finally looked up and shrugged. "I grew up in a Muggle home. There are actually some pretty good books written by Muggles. Even you might like a few of them, Mr. Stop-the-Children-from-Discovering-Anything-Non-Magical."

They finished their picnic, and Draco began to repack the basket. Potter helped, shaking out and folding the blanket. "I had a good time," he said. "Thank you."

Draco stood to face him. "I would like to see you again," he said, hoping he sounded sincere. "Have you changed your mind about dinner?"

Potter just shook his head and said, "But this Saturday, Ginny and Angelina—that's George's wife—have the weekend off from training. They'll both be in town. We're planning a friendly game for around two. Why don't you come by the field behind the Shack instead?"

"I'll be there," Draco assured him.

"Good," Potter said, just before leaning in and pressing his lips to Draco's cheek in a chaste kiss so sweet that it left Draco's mouth dry and his stomach twirling.


	14. Without a Sweetheart to His Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The original, which is not owned by me, is better, except for the part where the wrong people end up together.
> 
> Warnings: Potential for smut, but no actual smut. Sorry.
> 
> A/N: I'm not sure which one of these guys is dumber. Get it together, will ya? (Would it help if Draco told the truth?)

Saturday morning found Draco fussing about in his wardrobe, trying to find something casual enough for a pickup game of Quidditch but nice enough that he wouldn't appear lazy.

When he finally emerged, he found Blaise and Ginny waiting for him. Blaise raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Draco just glared at him.

"This is my wife, Ginny," Blaise said by way of introduction.

Draco took her hand. It appeared that Blaise had kept his word and hadn't spilt to his wife who he really was. Draco felt himself relax considerably, until his eyes met Ginny's. There was something wrong. As she gripped his hand in hers, she leaned in close and whispered, "Don't worry. I won't say anything."

"You know?" Draco whispered back.

Ginny snickered into his ear. "You'll have to remember all my brother's names. I doubt that they'll appreciate what you've dubbed them."

Draco glared at Blaise over the top of Ginny's head.

She straightened up and said, "So, you're coming with us?"

"Yes, Harry invited me."

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "Ah. You must have made an impression on him, then."

 _I hope so._ "It would seem that way."

The three of them made their way to the empty field. A few others were already there, including some of the children. They waved merrily to Draco, no doubt hoping he might give them an impromptu lesson at some point. He grinned back at them.

The rest of the Weasley clan trickled in. Draco was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He was particularly glad for his glamour. He wasn't sure that under ordinary circumstances he would survive so large a gathering of this particular family. He shuddered at the thought.

Potter—Harry—was one of the last to arrive. He came with Granger and her family. When Draco caught a look at her husband, he drew in his breath sharply. He had been aware of what Weasley had been through, of course, after what Harry had shared. But seeing it was something else entirely.

Draco had never seen a wizard his own age incapable of walking unassisted. He supposed that was due to the fact that there were healing spells of all sorts. Draco remembered Harry telling him that whatever had caused Weasley's accident had left him with permanent damage. He had use of a walking-stick, and his face and the visible skin on his hands were a mess of spell-induced scars.  His progress was slow, and more than once he had to lean on his wife for extra support.  Draco looked away, not wanting to be caught staring.

Leaving the rest, Harry came up to Draco. Smiling, he said, "Come meet some of the others." He placed a hand lightly on Draco's shoulder, steering him toward Granger, Weasley, and their children.

Harry introduced Draco not only to Weasley but to the rest of the group as well. Draco did his best to keep their names straight, as calling all of them "Weasley" was out of the question and he certainly couldn't let on that he'd given them all rather rude nicknames. In all, there were only about six people he hadn't already met. Naturally, he was acquainted with most of the children.

Draco was mildly surprised to see Councillor Weasley, whom the others all referred to as Bill, among them. He had assumed that a person of his position would be too busy for that sort of thing. His own father would never have attended such a gathering unless there were something in it for him. Draco surprised himself by thinking that perhaps Bill had it right after all.

Not everyone was playing Quidditch. Speccy Weasley, who turned out to be called Percy, wasn't playing, and Granger was sitting out as well. Apparently, she wasn't keen on flying. Naturally, Blaise would not play either. Like Granger, he had little interest in being on a broomstick. He plunked himself down with the other adults and a few of the children.

Draco glanced over at Harry. He was standing back a bit, hands in his pockets, watching Ginny hold Percy's youngest in her arms.

Draco came to stand next to Harry. He nudged him lightly with his elbow. "You okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Fine, thanks."

Draco wondered briefly if Harry regretted that he hadn't married her. But he didn't get a chance to think more about it, because one of the others (George, he thought) was dividing everyone into teams.

"Oi! Hadley! What position d'you want?"

Draco thought. It would be so easy to pretend, to slip into a different role from the one he'd had in school. To play another position. But one glance at Harry and the only thing he could think was that he suddenly had an insane desire to beat him, just this once.

"Seeker," he said with confidence.

George raised an eyebrow. "You any good?" Draco nodded, so George asked, "You all right with that, Charlie?"

Charlie, who it turned out was the stocky Weasley Draco had met in town, shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. I'll play keeper."

"All right. That makes Harry, Victoire, Ginny, and Teddy against me, Ang, Charlie and Hadley. Ready, then?"

"Hey!" came a voice over Draco's shoulder. "Aren't you forgetting about me?" Looking round, Draco saw Ron standing just behind him.

There was a hush. Draco caught sight of the rest of the clan exchanging glances. After an extended silence, George said slowly, "Wasn't sure you wanted to play."

"Of course I do. I didn't lose my ability to fly, you know."

After a tense moment, George nodded. "You want my team or Harry's?"

"What do you think?"

George managed to rope Bill into playing on his team to balance the numbers. Once everyone was sorted out, they started the game. As they took their positions, Draco realised he had no idea what a 'casual pickup game of Quidditch' looked like to a bunch of Weasleys. The whole thing felt surreal.

He must have looked uncomfortable, because as they were starting, Harry leaned over to him and whispered, "Scared, Hadley?"

For a split second, something flashed between them and Draco was caught off guard. He recovered his composure and whispered back, "You wish." With a wicked grin, he took off, not waiting for a response.

For a casual round among family, this crew was fiercely competitive. Every single one of them was highly skilled on a broom, even Teddy and Victoire. No wonder Harry hadn't complained about having two adolescents on his team.

Draco concentrated. He kept half an eye on the rest of the game while staring around for just the tiniest glint of gold. More than once, he thought he had spotted it, only to have it disappear again just as he set off after it.

Meanwhile, the action around him was continuous. While hovering and waiting for the Snitch to appear, Draco had the chance to watch the other players. Ron had been right about not losing his ability to fly; he was far steadier in the air than he had been on the ground. Draco hadn't remembered him being a spectacular Quidditch player, but he was clearly holding his own; Angelina was hard-pressed to get anything past him.

At last, Draco saw what he was looking for. It was hovering just above his team's makeshift goal. Without a second thought, he began to circle the pitch with purpose, always keeping the Snitch in sight. He didn't want to let on that he'd seen it.

Unfortunately, Harry appeared to have caught on to what Draco was doing. He followed Draco's gaze and saw the Snitch. That was it. Both of them set off toward it at top speed.

Draco didn't spare a glance at Harry. He could feel him at his side. They were pacing each other, neither letting the other ahead, pushing each other faster. The wind whipped Draco's hair as he sped. Nearer—nearer—he was almost there. He reached out his hand, his fingers brushing the Snitch. Potter's hand was there, too, and for a moment, their fingertips touched.

The feel of the skin-to-skin contact was nearly electric, and Draco almost let go. He heard Harry give a startled gasp, losing just a tiny fraction of his momentum.

Draco's hand closed around something. He could feel the Snitch's wings beating against his palm. He had done it. He had beaten Harry.

The sheer pleasure of the moment spurring him on, Draco swooped in the air, looping around. He was nearly giddy with delight. After all this time, he had finally won a game of Quidditch against the famous Harry Potter. Gracefully, Draco landed amid the cheers and whistles of the others.

After receiving thumps on the back from his teammates, Draco stole a glance at Harry.

"Good game," Harry said. "You play well."

There was something off about his expression. At first, Draco thought it was merely that Harry's ego had been bruised by the loss, but that didn't fit. He seemed somehow...unsurprised. Something occurred to Draco.

"You let me win." It wasn't a question.

Harry shrugged. "I'll just let you keep wondering," he said with a wink.

Draco felt himself losing his grip. Harry certainly hadn't lost his ability to be maddening, that was for certain. Rather than lose his temper, however, he began to walk away. Before he got far, Harry grabbed his arm.

"Wait. I didn't mean it. I honestly didn't let you win, I promise." He sighed. "I just still haven't learned how to lose graciously."

Draco wavered.

Harry continued, "Besides, you don't want to go yet. We're just going to hang out, eat, play another game or two. Will you stay?"

Draco wanted to say no. He wanted to open his mouth and spit back at Harry that he wasn't to be treated as though he were really so fragile. But seeing the look on Harry's face, the one that said that he _wanted_ Draco to stay, made him keep it to himself. He nodded.  Harry grinned and pulled him back toward the others.

They stayed long into the beautiful late summer evening, until the sky deepened to a rich purple-blue.  Everyone was relaxed.  Someone had brought a wireless, and they listened to the strains of Celestina Warbeck, some of them dancing. Draco saw Blaise holding Ginny close, swaying with the music. They looked as though the rest of the world didn't exist.  George and Teddy tossed the Quaffle around with the younger kids. Draco sat in the grass with Hugo and Rose, making tiny, illuminated bubbles stream out of the end of his wand and flicker before bursting.

The children ran off, chasing the last of the magic bubbles. Draco leaned back, propped on his elbows, and closed his eyes in contentment. He felt someone move beside him, and he opened his eyes again to see Harry at his side. They didn't speak; they just looked up and watched as the stars popped out. Draco turned toward Harry.

Green eyes met his own, and he saw a soft smile playing on Harry's lips. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Draco leaned closer. Their lips brushed in a whisper-kiss, a touch that left Draco shivering and wanting more. He pulled Harry closer, kissing him in earnest.

They broke apart. "Walk me home?" Draco asked.

"Sure."

When they arrived at the Hog's Head, they stood at a secluded corner of the building. Harry said quietly, "I'm glad you were there today."

"I am too," Draco said, without really meaning to.

"I'm sorry I've kept you waiting. I'm just…not very good at this. And you make me feel things I haven't allowed myself in a long time."

Draco had no idea what to say in response. That despite himself, he thought he might be feeling the same way? That he also hadn't given himself permission to need someone? "I—"

"May I—may I kiss you again?"

Those words were Draco's undoing; no one had ever _asked_ before. He couldn't do more than nod. Slowly, Harry moved in toward him, laying his hand on Draco's cheek. Their lips met.

They stayed like that for several minutes, deepening their kisses. Draco moved his hand to Harry's hip, drawing their bodies flush. Draco pressed himself upward and into Harry. As he did so, he could feel how much Harry wanted him. He groaned quietly and shifted so that Harry could feel him, too.

They were rocking their bodies together, pushing into each other. Draco slid his hand down to cup Harry's backside, forcing closeness. He very nearly lost himself in the sensation, but it wasn't enough. He didn't want Harry here, like this, in an alley. He wanted what he had denied himself for years. No matter how much he had refused to admit it, he wanted more than just to satisfy an empty lust.

While he could still form coherent thoughts, Draco slid his lips along Harry's jaw and up to his ear. "Come in with me," he pleaded.

It was as though a spell had been broken. With a gasp, Harry backed away. "I—I can't. I'm sorry," he said. He turned to go.

"Wait!" Draco called, but Harry was already running back down the deserted street.


	15. Will I Ever Tell You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Someday, I will write something I actually own and make real money from it. For now, I get to play with someone else's characters for free. I consider it "volunteer work."
> 
> Warnings: Yes, I am evil and I am frustrating your wish for some actual smut. Patience, dears.
> 
> A/N: Draco, you have some splainin' to do!

Draco was left standing alone, his heart pounding out of his chest. Facing the building, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool wall in an attempt to make the shame and anger abate. He slammed his open palm against the stone, relishing the sting the impact left. After several deep breaths, he thought he was calm enough to go inside. He was grateful that Blaise was still out with the others and wouldn't be around to question Draco's rumpled state and obvious discomfort.

Back in the Hog's Head, Draco recalled that Kel had returned that morning; he decided to fire-call. Moments later, Kel stepped out of the second floor fireplace, shaking ashes out of his hair.

"Miss me?" he asked, grinning.

Draco grabbed Kel and directed him into his room, shutting the door behind them. He pushed Kel up against it, kissing him and pouring out all the pent-up frustration. Kel was responding with enthusiasm, but something about wasn't right. His lips, the curve of his chest, his height—all of them felt _wrong_. Draco pulled away.

"What is it?" Kel asked.

Draco couldn't answer immediately. He wandered away from the door and sank down on the edge of his bed; filled with misery, he put his head in his hands. He felt the bed depress next to him and Kel's hand on his shoulder.

"Is this about what I said to you before I left? About it not being serious?"

Turning his head to look at Kel, Draco realised that Kel was under the impression Draco had fallen for him. The whole thing suddenly seemed rather ridiculous; Draco laughed in short, slightly hysterical bursts. Kel just sat there, looking puzzled.

"No. It's not like that at all," Draco told him, still giggling but attempting to pull himself together.

"You want to tell me what this is all about?"

"How I couldn't just have a go with you without thinking about the man I'd rather have in my bed."

Kel chuckled.  "I take it something happened while I was away, then?"

Sighing and turning serious again, Draco explained everything that had happened in the previous days, culminating in Harry's rejection. Kel didn't say a word; he merely sat listening.

At last Draco grumbled, "I didn't really intend for this to happen. I'd have been content with our arrangement if it hadn't been for Harry Bloody Potter."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Kel said, "Harry Potter, eh?"

Daring to look over at him, Draco was surprised to see that Kel had a look of wry amusement on his face. "Yes. Harry Potter," he answered.

Kel broke into a wide grin. "I fancied him quite a bit back when we were in school. I can barely keep on a broomstick, but I used to check _Quidditch Through the Ages_ out of the library all the time just to see his handwriting on the card. I used to fantasise that he would want the book and would come looking for me, as I was the last person to check it out."

In spite of himself, Draco chuckled. Back in those days, he never would have considered Harry worth that kind of effort. Now, however, he was sure that he would go to the ends of the Earth just to be noticed by him.

"I think he would be worth it," Draco said.

"Come on, walk me out," Kel suggested. "You can go after him and tell him that."

Draco thought that sounded like an excellent idea.

The pair of them exited the Hog's Head into the still, warm evening, talking amiably. Draco felt more at ease than he had in some time. It had been a relief to acknowledge his feelings for Harry, even if only to Kel. They rounded the same corner of the building where Draco had stood with Harry only a short time before.

As Draco glanced up, he saw Harry standing in the shadow of the building. When Harry looked up and saw Draco and Kel, the expression on his face changed. His jaw set and his mouth became a thin line as he glanced between the two of them. He appeared to be frozen to the spot.

"I think this is where I leave you," Kel said, and he wisely chose that moment to exit the scene.

Draco followed Harry's eyes, watching Kel retreating. As Draco turned back to Harry, he saw that Harry, too, was walking away.

"Stop!" Draco called.

Harry, his back to Draco, stood still. "What?" he said flatly.

"Why—why are you here?"

Harry gave an exasperated huff. "To see you, of course. But I see you had other plans."

"What?"

"I left you here not half an hour ago, and you already had another bloke with you. Found someone who would give you what you wanted, did you?"

"No! We didn't—it's not what you think. Just…please let me explain."

"Explain about Kel?" Harry turned around to face him. He was angry, and his eyes were too bright, shimmering in a way that made Draco shiver with some unnamed emotion. "There doesn't seem to be much to explain."

Draco frowned. "You know Kel?"

Harry rolled his eyes. " _Everyone_ knows Kel. He isn't exactly…discriminating."

"I don't know what you mean," Draco said.

"Look, I have no idea whether you were aware of this, but he tends to use people. Kel doesn't really do relationships." Harry paused. "Unless…that's what you were going for." He looked like he had just put things together. "Oh, my God."

"What?" Draco was confused.

So quietly that it sounded threatening, Harry said, "Is that what this has been about the whole time? Did you just think I'd be a good _fuck_?" He spat out the last word, making it sound incredibly filthy.

Draco was at a loss. He wanted to tell the truth; he wanted to say, 'Not since you kissed me in the field' or 'Possibly, but I'd like more than that'. He wanted to say that he had only fire-called Kel because he had needed Harry so badly and believed he would never be worthy of him. Instead, he just stared at Harry and said again, "What?"

"I _said_ , did you just think I would—"

" _No!_ Not—not the whole time."

Harry threw his hands in the air. "Oh, just part of the time? Would that be before or after you tried to use my name to sell your ridiculous classes?"

Those last words stung. Draco knew perfectly well that he had never taught a lesson in his life, but he had been sure that Harry had believed in him. The ache inside him exploded at the reminder that he was no more than a con artist. He had longed so deeply for it to be real. He couldn't look Harry in the eye.

"I don't know how to answer that."

"That's just great. So tonight you were using him because you couldn't use me. I should have known. I'm not sure you're even capable of…" Harry let his voice trail off and he backed away. "I'm going to leave now," he said, sounding weary and resigned.

"Please—don't—just let me—" Draco started, but Harry had already turned around again and was walking up the street. "Harry!" Draco yelled after him, but this time Harry didn't look back.

* * *

By the time Draco gathered himself together the next morning, it was almost noon. He hadn't decided what he was going to do, either about Harry or about the rest of his stay. He only had a week left. For the moment, he decided he would go flying to clear his head.

When Draco arrived downstairs, Blaise was talking to Ginny, who was leaning up against the counter.

"…obsessed with each other, so it makes sense."

"That was the general idea, yes."

"Hence the plan. I love it when you act all devious." Ginny grinned and leaned across the desk to kiss Blaise.

Seeing that they were otherwise engaged, Draco made an attempt to slip out unnoticed, but Blaise spotted him and called out, "Hang on. I have something for you."

Blaise reached under the counter and produced several large packages. "These came yesterday, but I didn't get a chance to tell you after the picnic."

"Er. Thanks." Draco examined one of the packages and realised what it was. "Oh, it's just the robes for the children. Can you hang onto these for now?"

"Sure." Blaise stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, grinning. "Mate, you have got it bad."

Draco frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," Blaise said.

"Whatever. I have to go. I'll deal with the damn robes later."

"You're worse than Harry," Ginny commented.

"What?"

"He gets like this too," Ginny explained. She was using the sort of calm, patient tone one uses when speaking to a very small child. "Doesn't deal well with his feelings."

"I'm dealing just fine, thanks."

"Right. Which is why you look like a kicked Crup. For Merlin's sake, if you like him that much, then _do_ something about it."

Draco just stared at her.

Ginny shifted away from the counter so that she was facing Draco. She closed the distance between them, her face unreadable. She looked directly at him, a fire burning somewhere behind her brown eyes.

"You should know, though, that if you ever hurt him, my bat-bogey hex will be the least of your problems. I have five older brothers, all of whom love Harry like one of our own."

Swallowing hard, Draco couldn't do any more than nod slowly. Ginny patted his arm and smiled, though the ferocity of her gaze never wavered.

"So what do you propose I do, then?" Draco tried not to let his voice sound pleading, but he knew he had failed.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Blaise said. "You're going to have a lot to make up to him, mate."

Draco decided it was a good thing he was going out to fly; he needed another plan.


	16. Harry's White Wizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, or this is how the story really would have ended.
> 
> Warnings: Cheesy love notes; the damned green apple (yes, it's that one); me leaving you frustrated on the smut thing again.
> 
> A/N: Do you think Harry will forgive Draco? Do you think he should? By the way, I'm awful at writing love notes, so I kind of went with that. I borrowed heavily from ones I've actually gotten from my wonderful husband.

Draco's afternoon of flight had cleared his head significantly, so by the time he returned to the Hog's Head, he had a good idea what he needed to do. If he had learnt anything from his parents, it was that apologies were useless. Most of the time, no one believed in their sincerity; this was likely because when it came to the senior Malfoys, _saying_ one was sorry rarely had anything whatsoever to do with actually _being_ sorry. Draco was certain that Harry had experienced a lifetime of empty words and would respond far better to being shown rather than told.

When Monday arrived, Draco was ready. Just before ten in the morning, he stood outside the Silver Quill with a small package in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. Instead of making his way to the back of the shop to browse, he approached the desk. Harry didn't look up. _Of course_ , Draco thought.

Steeling his resolve, Draco laid the small bundle on the desk and unwrapped it. A single, well-polished green apple sat in the middle of the white handkerchief.

Still without a glance, Harry asked, "What is that for?"

"For you. In case you get hungry." He left the apple where where it was.

Harry's attention remained focused on his parchments. Reaching inside his robes, Draco pulled out a small origami bird. He touched it with his wand, and it flew to land directly in front of Harry.

Reaching out for it, Harry jumped a little when the paper bird unfolded itself into a small card. Draco watched as Harry read the words written there. In Draco's elegant script, it said, ' _Wingardium leviosa_ '.

Before he turned away to look at the Quidditch books, Draco caught Harry's puzzled expression and smirked.

On Tuesday, Draco brought coffee. He set one steaming cup down on the counter and kept one in his hand. He set the second origami bird loose, this time reading, ' _Accio_ '.

Harry was stocking shelves. His back still to Draco, he caught the paper bird and said, "Finish that up front. I'd rather not have to _Scourgify_ my books, thanks."

On Wednesday, Draco brought chocolate. More specifically, he brought a brownie. On the way to the Silver Quill, he had stopped at the chocolatier on the corner. He had browsed a selection of what the owner said were the best available anywhere until he came across the brownie; he'd eaten something like it years before on a trip to Paris with his parents. The proprietor had wrapped it in gold foil and laid it in a small gold box.

Harry glanced in the box before he returned to entering figures in the ledger. "A brownie?"

Draco huffed. "That is _not_ a mere 'brownie'. _That_ is _un petit gâteau au chocolat_."

Harry said nothing further, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips when he read the note inside the paper bird. This time, the word was, ' _Incarcerous_ '.

On Thursday, Draco brought a bottle of wine. When he'd asked Blaise for the finest he had, Blaise had grinned and cheerfully handed it over, no charge. Draco had accepted, although with reservations. His naturally suspicious nature had led him to conclude there was something Blaise wasn't telling him.

When Draco arrived at the shop, Harry was only just opening. Granger was with him, her two children in tow. She and Harry appeared to be having a disagreement about something. Casting a quick notice-me-not charm, Draco followed them inside, seizing the opportunity to enter without the bell chiming. He took up residence in the stacks.

"Look, all I'm saying is that you need to give it a chance." Granger sounded exasperated, as though she were repeating something for the fortieth time.

"And I've already explained why that's not a good idea," Harry said firmly.

"When did you start analysing everything so much? You'll never find what you're looking for this way."

"And you know so much about what I'm looking for how, exactly?"

She frowned. "How long have we known each other?"

Harry sighed. "I know you mean well, and I know you care. But the thing is, I'm not just analysing things." He ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "I want—I want someone who wants _all_ of me. Someone who isn't just after my fame or my power or my body. And I want someone who isn't put off by what gets said about me."

"Is that why the last one didn't work out?" Granger asked tentatively.

Harry didn't answer immediately, which in itself was answer enough. "Look, what I want and what I can have are two different things. So until I stop being…well, _me_ , I am just going to have to take what I've got."

Granger laid a hand on his arm. "That's why I think you should take a chance this once," she said. "How often do I tell you _not_ to be careful? You know how much it's _killing_ me to have to say this, and I honestly can't believe that I am, but I think he's both what you want and what you need. No hero worship. No pretence."

Harry snorted. "Isn't that exactly what he's doing?"

"Give him time. If you trust him, he'll drop all that. Just think about it."

Harry only said, "Maybe."

Granger turned to the children. "You're going to stay here for now, until Victoire comes to take you to Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur's. Be good." She gave them each a peck on the cheek.

When he saw Granger headed for the door, Draco ducked behind her and slipped out with her. He walked about fifty paces away, ended the spell, and headed back toward the shop. His mind was still on what Granger had said. Had she really just advised Harry to give him another chance?

When he re-entered, Draco pulled the wine bottle from where it was tucked inside his robes. He left it on the corner of the desk. As he was turning away, he heard a tiny giggle. He looked to his right, where he spotted Rose. She was seated on a stool behind the desk.

"Is that for Uncle Harry?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"You fancy him, don't you?" She giggled again. "I think he fancies you too. I saw you kissing at the picnic."

"That's not any of your business. Where is he, by the way?"

"In back." She turned on her stool. "Uncle Harry!" she yelled. "Mr. Hadley's here to see you!"

Harry emerged from the back, carrying a stack of five large volumes. When his eyes met Draco's, he raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the bottle of wine and the note reading, ' _Incendio_ '.

Draco bowed gracefully. For once, Potter offered him a real smile. Draco thought his heart might beat its way right out of his chest.

* * *

On Friday, Draco sat at the desk in his room, writing. He wanted to make sure it was perfect. He'd done the very thing that had won Harry over in the first place—giving him a little bit of mystery and making him wonder what would be next. He could only hope that it had been enough. He sealed the letter and placed it in an envelope.

On his way out the door, he heard Blaise call after him, "Treacle tart."

Draco paused and turned around. "What?"

"He likes treacle tart." Blaise shrugged. "Ginny says it's his favourite." With that, he turned to a stack of parchment on the desk waiting to be filed.

With that enigmatic advice in mind, Draco bought a treacle tart from the patisserie. It hardly seemed like an appropriate gift, but he would have to take Blaise's word for it.  Inside the Silver Quill, Draco marched straight to the desk, armed with the tart. He cleared his throat loudly and waited for Harry to acknowledge him. After several long minutes, Harry finally looked up. Then he looked down at what Draco held in his hands, and back up into his face. Draco held his breath.

At last, a slow grin spread over Harry's face. "Tell me you didn't make this yourself."

Draco relaxed, laughing. "Not a chance. I doubt anything I made would be edible. No, I charmed the witch at the patisserie into making it for me."

"Literally?" Harry's eyes widened.

"Er, no, although she did seem to think it was a rather odd request. Read the letter."

> _Four spells for the four weeks it took me to figure it out:_
> 
> Wingardium leviosa _—you made me fly_
> 
> Accio _—you summoned my heart_
> 
> Incarcerous _—you captivated me_
> 
> Incendio _—you set me on fire_

Harry looked up. He wasn't smiling, and Draco's stomach dropped; he was sure that meant Harry hadn't appreciated it.

Suddenly, Harry laughed. "That has to be the cheesiest thing anyone has ever written to me. I love it."

Relieved, Draco grinned. "Am I forgiven, then?"

"Absolutely."

"Listen, Harry, about the other night—"

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "I know what happened."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I might have talked to Kel on Monday when he came in to apologise." Harry shrugged.

"Wait…what? And you just let me carry on thinking you were still sore?"

"Well, a week's worth of plying me with gifts might have made it worth letting you squirm. I needed to know that you wanted more than just bragging rights for getting me into your bed."

"So it worked? The gifts?"

"That, and, erm, possibly a conversation with Hermione." He looked at Draco pointedly, which Draco took to mean Harry was aware that Draco had overheard them; though how he knew was beyond Draco's comprehension.

Harry came out from behind the desk and took Draco's hands. He led him into the storage room. Before Draco could ask what Harry wanted, he found himself shoved up against the wall and snogged until he was nearly senseless.

Without warning, a box exploded and several books tumbled roughly onto the floor. Draco pulled back, startled. "What…"

Harry was flushing slightly. "Er…sorry."

"What just happened?"

"I lose control of my magic occasionally, when I—er—feel things strongly. I tend to blow things up." Draco thought he must have looked alarmed, because Harry said, "Don't worry, it only happens with book crates and such. The last time I blew up a human she'd insulted my parents."

Before Draco could respond to that, Harry leaned in again and reclaimed Draco's mouth. Their bodies moulded together, and Draco felt Harry slide his hands onto his hips, pushing his robes aside and holding onto him as they moved together. Draco was responding far too rapidly. Before he reached a point where he couldn't—or, more accurately, wouldn't—stop, he pushed lightly on Harry's chest. Harry released him, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I just—" _I want to make love with you, not shag in a storage room._ "I just don't want to ruin your storage room with any more exploding boxes." _Or find myself in Saint Mungo's with a concussion._

Harry chuckled. "I don't think you need to worry about that." He reached for Draco again, and laid a hand gently on his waist.

Draco put his hand on top of Harry's. "Not here. Please have dinner with me first?"

"All right. But instead of the Hog's Head, why don't you come to my house? Unlike you, I _do_ make things that are quite edible."

"Er…what about Teddy?"

"Don't worry about him. He won't be home tonight. How about six o'clock?"

"All right."

With a last kiss, Harry stepped away from their spot against the wall. Draco adjusted his robes and they stepped out of the storage room.

"I'll see you tonight," Draco promised as he left the shop.

On his way back up the hill to the Hog's Head, Draco had never been so grateful for robes and a long walk as he was in that moment.


	17. His Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I did not own them yesterday; I do not own them today; I will not own them tomorrow.
> 
> Warnings: Draco's bad habit of simultaneously wanting Harry so bad and constantly interrupting just when it gets good.
> 
> A/N: The piece of music mentioned in this chapter is "A London Symphony" by Ralph Vaughan Williams; I didn't name it because it just sounded redundant to mention both the piece of music and the actual London Symphony Orchestra. I'm a violinist myself, and the thing Harry says to Draco about it is something our conductor once said to us in a rehearsal.

Draco spent the better part of his day pacing in his room, trying to figure out what he was going to do. As soon as he had calmed down after leaving the Silver Quill, he realised he was in a world of trouble. He knew he would have to tell Harry the truth—or at least a good part of it. Draco wasn't planning on staying around for the next day's End of Summer Celebration just to be caught in his inability to lead the children in flight. That put him in an awkward spot.

On the one hand, Draco could think of almost nothing other than Harry's lips and hands and various other body parts touching him in all sorts of exciting ways. On the other hand, he'd already made a mess of things with Harry once, and he wasn't in a hurry to do it again.  Even by the time he was dressed and ready to leave, he still hadn't made up his mind what to do.

At precisely six o'clock, after drawing a deep breath, Draco knocked on the door of Harry's tiny house, a bouquet of deep purple flowers in hand. He couldn't remember ever being this anxious about a date before; he hoped Harry didn't notice.

When Harry opened the door, Draco sucked in his breath. He looked good. Casual, but still bearing that air of confidence Draco had sensed on the first day he had arrived in town. Draco found himself wishing that Harry would wear ordinary Muggle clothes more often.

"For me?" Harry asked, gesturing to the flowers.

"Well observed," Draco said, smirking. Harry just rolled his eyes.

After putting the flowers in a vase, Harry ushered Draco into the living room. Ordinarily, Draco would have preferred to take him someplace expensive and elegant. But he suspected that it would make Harry uncomfortable, and he doubted there even was such a place in Hogsmeade anyway. He would make himself content with the meal Harry was cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled fantastic.

In the meantime, Draco watched as Harry used his wand to light a few small lamps and began setting out glasses and the wine Draco had given him the day before. It was unopened.

"You didn't drink the wine." Draco feigned offence.

"Well, I was saving it for a special occasion."

Harry set the glasses on the coffee table and offered Draco a seat. The silence was awkward; Draco found himself at a loss for what to say, so he focused on the music coming from the wireless. He was impressed with the station Harry had chosen: classical, early contemporary era by the sounds of it.

"Excellent taste in music, Harry," Draco commented, glad for something to break the tension.

"Ah, this is one of my favourites," Harry said. "I once dated a violist in the London Symphony, so I've heard it performed live."

The music changed, becoming fuller; the strains blossomed into an almost aching urgency. It reminded Draco a bit of his parents for reasons he couldn't fathom.

Harry seemed to be aware of Draco's concentration. "This part here, that melody? That's supposed to represent two lovers looking out over the rooftops of London," he explained.

"Really?" Draco closed his eyes and listened. Yes, he supposed that made sense. That must have been why he had thought about his parents; they had always had an intense relationship. The melody ended and the music softened; Draco opened his eyes again. He glanced over at Harry.

Harry was hiding his face behind one of the couch cushions, his eyes just showing over the top. He was shaking with silent laughter. Draco glared at him.

"What the hell is so funny, Potter?" he snapped.

Unable to control himself any longer, Harry dropped the pillow and laughed aloud. "I can't believe you bought that line."

"What?"

"About the lovers and the rooftop. I was joking! I have no idea what that part really means."

"You—" Draco was furious.

"Oh, don't be upset—I was just trying to lighten the mood. You seemed nervous."

Draco couldn't think of anything else to do, so he grabbed the cushion from the other end of the couch and smacked Harry with it.

Harry, for his part, tackled Draco.

They wrestled on the couch for all of forty-five seconds before Draco rolled off, landing hard between the couch and the coffee table. "Ow!" He lay there on his back.

Harry flopped down on the couch, face down. He reached a hand over the side. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. This just proves that men our age should be a bit more mature than to pillow-fight in the living-room." He took Harry's hand and let him pull him up to sitting.

"Hm, you may be right. We should definitely save that for the bedroom."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Either way, it'll have to wait until after we eat. Dinner's ready." Harry stood, offering Draco his hand once more. Draco let himself be pulled off the floor and led into the kitchen.

Whilst Harry carried the food to the table, Draco made himself busy pouring drinks for both of them. "I didn't realise you could cook."

"I live alone. Who's going to do it for me?"

"I meant that you made a pretty elaborate dish. This looks incredible."

"Oh, that? Combination of having to do it for the Muggles who raised me and Molly Weasley's excellent spells. I think she knows every magical shortcut ever invented."

Now that the tension had been broken, Draco was far more at ease than before the meal, despite the fact that he still didn't have much idea what he was going to tell Harry. He had to admit, he was curious about what Harry had been up to for all those years before coming to Hogsmeade; he decided that asking about his time as an Auror was a good way to stall.

"It wasn't exactly what I was expecting," Harry admitted. "I think I pictured spending my time catching Dark Wizards and rescuing artifacts hidden in people's homes. I did some of that, but mostly it was paperwork and odd jobs. Although there was that one time…"

"Tell me," Draco said.

Harry recounted a few stories about some of the more bizarre things he had done when he lived in London. Draco hung on his words, greedily taking in every bit of information about Harry that he could. After fifteen years of avoiding it, he wanted to know everything he'd missed.

They cleared the dishes and moved back into the living-room, settling down with the last of the wine they'd been enjoying. This time, it was Harry who asked the questions. "I've done far too much of the talking, so now it's your turn. How did you end up in sales?"

"I got tired of shuffling papers for my father's business," Draco said. "I needed to be out on my own."

"So what did you do?"

"I tried out different things. Not all of them worked out." He shrugged. "I ended up spending my life travelling around making sales."

"Was that what you wanted?"

"I just wanted something _more_. I needed to be better than just one of my father's employees—overworked, underpaid, and bored. I didn't make it as a professional Quidditch player, so I tried something different."

"I find it hard to imagine why someone with your skill wasn't drafted by the first team you went after."

"I—" Draco couldn't really answer that; there was no way to explain without giving Harry his real identity. "It's complicated. I just wasn't who they were looking for."

"You flew really well the other day." It was the closest either of them had come to mentioning what had happened the weekend before.

"You and your friends play a tough game for being casual. You're all quite good."

"So are you, you know. Playing Seeker again brought back a lot of my school memories. I don't think I would have been able to concentrate half so well if I'd had to play against you back then." Harry's gaze was intense, and Draco realised suddenly that he would need to tread carefully; Harry was far more intelligent than Draco had ever given him credit for.

Harry had shifted closer, and they were nearly touching. Draco knew it was now or never. He had to say something, even if it meant an end to their evening. "Wait."

Harry sat back a little, his head to the side. "What is it?"

"I have to tell you something."

"Does it have to be now?"

"Yes. You deserve to know before we go any further."

"What is it?" Harry's eyes were full of concern.

"I'm—I'm leaving. This was supposed to be my last sale before I went back home."

Harry looked relieved. "That's all? Well, I knew _that_."

"But—" Draco tried to say more, but Harry cut him off.

"I know we only have a few days." He laid his hand on Draco's cheek. "It doesn't matter. At least we'll have that. You've made me see—and feel—things I didn't know I could. Until you came along, I was sure that this"—he gestured between them—"was for other people. Now that I know it's possible, I have no intention of letting it go."

Before Draco could answer, Harry had closed the remaining distance between them. He leaned forward, claiming Draco's mouth in a heated kiss. Draco placed his hand on the back of Harry's head, pulling him closer. Any other objections he might have voiced were silenced, buried deep within the recesses of his mind and covered over by the intensity of the heat between them. Draco gave up on forming any further coherent thoughts.


	18. Draco's Commission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter is an indication that it's probably a good thing I don't own them. I'd have had them making out in Myrtle's bathroom instead of nearly killing each other.
> 
> Warnings: OMG! Smut! (Finally.) Also, condoms.
> 
> A/N: After this, only 3 more chapters. BTW, I cannot STAND stories with intimate contact where no one so much as mentions how they are going to keep from getting sick with something. Seriously, people, stay safe for pete's sake.

As their kisses deepened, Draco's breath quickened and he let out a soft moan. When he opened his mouth, it gave Harry leave to push his tongue inside. Draco slid his hand under Harry's shirt, trailing his fingers against the smooth skin and soft hair; Harry groaned.

They stayed that way, tasting and touching each other, until Draco was sure he couldn't take much more. Harry clearly felt the same way, because he reached for Draco's trousers, tugging the belt loose and tossing it aside before he set to work unfastening the buttons and pulling them open. Some part of Draco's mind, still lucid despite Harry's ministrations, screamed at him that it was too much, too fast. He reached out to still Harry's hand.

Harry sat back a little, his hand still on the waistband of Draco's pants. "What is it now?"

"I—I want this to last," Draco confessed.

"Todd." Harry's voice was soft, and Draco's chest burned with a sudden wish to hear Harry whisper his real name that way. Draco closed his eyes.

"Todd," Harry said again a little more firmly, catching Draco's attention. "Look at me." His green eyes were focused on Draco, who couldn't look away. "We have all night to make this last. Right now, all I want is to be touching you. Can we start with that?"

"Yes," Draco managed to say. "Yes."

Harry moved in again to kiss him, and the urgency returned, full of the pent-up longing and desire that had been building between them for weeks. Draco pushed a little, toppling Harry onto his back on the sofa. He pulled at their trousers and pants until both of them were half undressed, then he adjusted himself so that he was lying atop Harry. He didn't care that their position was slightly awkward; he lowered his hips so that their erections were pressed together. Deftly he grasped them both in his hand and began to stroke.

They continued to kiss until they were both so lost in one another that all they could do was pant into each other's mouths. The sensations built as they moved together toward release. With a soft groan and a shudder, Harry crested first, and Draco followed him quickly, crying out as he came.

They lay there for a few moments, catching their breath. As the pounding in Draco's ears receded, he heard Harry mutter, "Accio," and a couple of towels landed on top of them with a soft thump.

Harry cleaned the mess between them and stood to pull his trousers back up. Feeling bereft at the loss of contact, Draco almost said something, but Harry was holding out his hand. Draco accepted it and pulled himself up. Reluctantly, he too dragged his clothes back into place.

"Come with me," Harry whispered in his ear. He tugged on Draco's hand.

"Where are we—"

"I promised you the rest of the night, didn't I?"

Once they were inside the bedroom, Harry closed the door. He pulled Draco down toward him, tilting upward to press a lingering kiss on his lips. He withdrew and began unbuttoning his shirt. Draco stilled his hand.

"Let me."

Harry let his hands drop to his sides, closing his eyes and tipping his head slightly to one side. As he unfastened each button, Draco laid a soft kiss along each new expanse of exposed skin until he had opened the shirt all the way to the bottom. Gently, he pushed it off Harry's shoulders. He stood and claimed another long embrace.

Simultaneously pushing Draco away slightly and holding onto the collar of his shirt, Harry mimicked Draco's actions. Just as he was undoing the button right below Draco's collar bone, Draco felt himself panic slightly. He grasped Harry's wrists.

"No…wait…" he said. He was shaking slightly. He knew that his scars weren't visible—the glamour covered them perfectly, but they were still tangible.

"Shh," Harry whispered. "It's okay." He resumed his task.

Draco's body went rigid as Harry ran his hand lightly over the fine lines that criss-crossed Draco's chest. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Are these scars? I can feel them, but I can't see them."

Draco cracked his eyes open and found himself looking right into Harry's. "They—they're mostly internal."

"What are they?"

"They're one of the reasons I don't play professional Quidditch." _And the one constant reminder I have of you._

Harry didn't press further. Instead, he followed the lines with his hands and his mouth, tracing each one first with his fingers, then with his lips and tongue. Draco felt himself growing increasingly aroused at the sensations of both the heat from Harry's kisses and the coolness as the air hit the damp patches he left.

At last Harry straightened up and pushed Draco's shirt off. He let it slide onto the floor and puddle behind him. Harry laid his hands on Draco's bare shoulders and ran them down the length of his arms, causing shivers. When Harry reached Draco's wrist, he stopped again.

Lifting Draco's right arm, Harry fingered the translucent beads of Draco's glamour bracelet. "What is this?"

"It's, ah, nothing."

"Can I take it off?"

" _No!_ That is, I mean—"

Harry had backed off a step or two, and he maintained eye contact. "It's that important to you?"

"Yes. I—I can't tell you about it, not tonight. Can you just trust me for now? Please?"

"Yes."

The word carried weight; Draco knew it took a lot for Harry to give him that, and he was grateful. He reached out and pulled Harry closer then ran a hand down his cheek until he cupped Harry's chin. He drew their lips together.  Still with the same sense of languid ease, they continued to undress one another. This time, they were unhurried; they took the time to touch and kiss and fill each other's senses.  When they were naked, Harry nudged Draco backward toward the bed. Lightly, he pushed Draco onto his back, then straddled his waist. He planted soft kisses across his jaw, coming to rest on his lips.

Draco placed his hands on Harry's hips, moving their bodies together. They stayed that way until both of them were hard and aching, making low noises against each other's mouths. Harry slid forward so that Draco's erection was resting against his cheeks. Harry paused in his kissing, and Draco looked at him expectantly. Sitting up slightly and leaning over, Harry reached into a drawer beside the bed. He pulled out a small bottle and what looked like a gold square.

The bottle Draco recognised, but not the square. He pushed himself up so that he was reclined on his elbows. "What is _that_?"

"It's a condom."

"A what? What the hell is a 'condom'?"

"Muggle device. It goes on your dick." Harry raised an eyebrow. "You didn't really think I was going to do this without protection, did you?"

Draco held up a hand. "There are spells for that."

"Yes, but this works better. And it has the added perk of not requiring me to point my wand at your bits."

Draco was still wary. "Are you sure?"

"Quite. Muggles do get some things right, after all." He leaned in and whispered in Draco's ear, "Trust me." Draco shivered.

Harry took that as his cue. He began kissing Draco again, moving backward as he kissed downward from his ear, continuing to inch himself back until he was straddling his thighs.

Draco watched in fascination as Harry opened the foil packet. He poured some of the lube inside the condom then took Draco's length in his hand. With his thumb, Harry stroked upward on the underside, from base to tip. Draco arched his back off the bed. The delay had caused him to soften somewhat, so Harry wrapped a hand around him and began to move up and down until he had returned Draco to a fully aroused state.

Deftly, Harry slipped the condom on and rolled it down slowly, touching and rubbing slightly as he went. When it was fully on, he poured some of the lube into his hand, grasped Draco, and began to caress him. "Oh, gods," Draco moaned.

Harry chuckled a little. "I told you so," he said softly. He began his ascent back toward Draco's mouth, kissing and sucking. When he reached Draco's lips, he pressed his own firmly against them, teasing his mouth open to slip his tongue inside. He slid his body forward again, making sure to brush his erection against Draco's as he went.

Draco felt as though he might burst into flames at any moment. This was nothing like what he had experienced before. He was used to sweeping in, taking what he wanted, fucking hard, and getting out. But Harry was leaving no room for that. He was making love to him, pushing him beyond anything he had ever felt.  When at last Harry reached behind himself to guide Draco inside, Draco felt that he had stretched past his limit. He knew it wouldn't take much. He felt Harry begin to move and he tilted his head back, eyes closed in rapture.

"I need—" he whimpered, unable to complete his sentence. Harry understood, though. He hovered, allowing Draco to thrust upward. He was so close; he could feel everything building up inside him. And then—

_Draco._

Draco's opened his eyes in surprise, certain that he'd heard his name. He must have been mistaken—or perhaps it was wishful thinking—because all he saw was Harry, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. It took a moment for Draco to register what he was actually hearing: Harry was _hissing_. The sight of Harry Potter on top of him, head back and mouth open, riding him and stroking himself as he vocalised in Parseltongue, was too much. Unable to hold on any longer, Draco let go, riding the waves of his orgasm.

As the sensations died back, Harry resumed his own rhythmic rocking. He looked down at Draco. "Touch me," he demanded, and Draco was only too happy to oblige, quickly bringing Harry to completion as well.

Harry carefully rolled off and _accio_ 'd another towel from the bathroom. He gently cleaned them both, divesting Draco of the condom in the process. They lay together, their bodies entwined, holding on to each other. Draco thought that he had never felt so whole, so satisfied, in his entire life. And as he drifted toward sleep, Draco's last coherent thought was, _Dammit, Blaise was right. I've 'got it bad'._


	19. The Good in Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If only. Everything but the fluffy plot belongs to someone else.
> 
> Warnings: Sad goodbyes?
> 
> A/N: Almost there! Just 2 more after this. The beginning of this chapter makes me a little sad, though.

In the morning, Draco rose early. Harry was still sleeping, his breathing soft and steady. Draco lay on his back, his head turned towards Harry, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically. He smiled a little with the knowledge that it was he who had put Harry into his current state of sated exhaustion. Carefully, Draco slipped out of bed and stepped softly across the room so as not to wake him.

As he showered and dressed, he considered his options. He knew he had to leave, lest he prove to the entire village that he had no business being there. The Aurors would be summoned before he could blink, and there would be no escape this time.

There was one small problem: he didn't want to leave Harry.

It was Draco's own fault, really. He hadn't meant to fall for anyone, let alone Harry, but his own weary loneliness from years on the road had made him soft. If he had done what he had intended to do, he would not be in this position. If only he could have waited a few more weeks until he was safely home.

There was nothing for it, then, but to try and get out of the village before anyone could stop him. He would have to tell Harry something, though. He padded into the kitchen, opening drawers until he found what he was looking for.

Draco sat down at the kitchen table with the quill and parchment he'd found. He closed his eyes to think but quickly opened them against the flood of images of Harry. That would never do; he needed to have a clear head. He pondered for a moment then wrote:

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _By the time you read this, I will be long gone. I can't stay here in Hogsmeade. I'm not who you think I am or who you want me to be. Someday, I will explain it to you._
> 
> _The world was wide open, but I never saw any of it until you came into my life. I won't forget you._
> 
> _Until we meet again,_
> 
> _Todd_

He folded the parchment over, wrote Harry's name on the outside, and stood it on the table. When he returned to the bedroom, he sat down in a chair in the corner of the room to put on his shoes. He tried, unsuccessfully, not to think about what he was leaving behind. He tried to tell himself that this was nothing out of the ordinary; it was no more than what he normally took from any willing wizard on one of his cons. He almost had himself convinced, too, in spite of the stinging pressure behind his eyes.

As he was lacing the dragon-hide boot on his right foot, Harry began to stir. He rolled over in the bed, felt the empty place with his hand, and sat up. He looked over at Draco, blinking, then reached for his glasses and slipped them on.

"Hey."

"Hm? Oh, hey," Draco responded. He cleared his throat, refusing to look directly at Harry.

"Leaving early, then?"

"Well, I have quite a bit to do." Draco tried to keep his voice steady.

"Ah, of course—it's the End of Summer Celebration. Good thing you woke me up. I need to stop by the shop for a bit. I'll see you later, though?"

"Sure, yeah. Later." At last Draco looked over at the bed, and immediately wished he hadn't. It wasn't so much the tousled, well-shagged look Harry still had about him, or the soft gleam in his strikingly green eyes, or the easy smile on his lips. It was something else entirely, and Draco almost lost it.

He didn't care what the risk was; when he returned home, he would send an owl to Harry, explaining everything to him. It would likely cost him all he had—and probably result in Ginny hexing him—but it would be worth it if it meant he could have another chance to put that light in Harry's eyes.

Draco rose from the chair and crossed the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took Harry's face in his hands and kissed him as though it were the last time he would ever kiss anyone. He felt Harry respond with enthusiasm, and he was certain that he felt his heart rip in two.

When they drew back from each other, Harry said with a sly grin, "Sure you won't stay for a bit?"

"I'm sure." Draco tried to smile, but he was positive it wasn't coming out right.

He stood, and after planting a far-too-brief last kiss on Harry's lips, he left the cottage. If he hurried, he could make the Apparition Point long before anyone else was bustling about the village.

Draco stopped at the Hog's Head long enough to gather his belongings from his room. As it was far too early even for Blaise to be up, he simply left the key at the desk with a note. He knew his old friend would understand; he prayed that Blaise would wait to tell Ginny until he was safely hidden. He was glad for the privacy, as he had very little desire to be on the receiving end of Blaise's knowing smirk. He had already made hash of everything and wasn't keen to be reminded of that fact.

Not to mention that if he let himself, he could easily be talked into staying. Draco was fully aware at this point that he'd been set up. After all, owing to their connection through Ginny, Harry was practically family to Blaise. Draco wouldn't be at all surprised to find out that Granger—Hermione—was in on it as well.

Draco walked back toward the other end of town from the Shrieking Shack, the end with the stile. Once he was past that, he could safely Apparate. He quickened his pace.  As he approached the stile, however, he saw the last thing he had expected. There was already someone there, just Apparating in. On closer inspection, Draco saw that it was one of the saleswizards he had dined with before he came to Hogsmeade. McLaggen, he thought the man had said. _Damn!_

Draco cast a quick notice-me-not charm and hid behind a shrub. He thought he might wait until McLaggen entered the village proper, then make a run for it. But McLaggen appeared to be taking his sweet time, standing around. Draco wondered what he was waiting for.

Another loud _crack_ and Draco had his answer. The large-nosed witch from the Leaky Apparated in. The pair of them began talking. Draco moved closer so he could hear.

"…got your message and came straight away," the witch was saying. "How did you know he was here?"

"My niece works at the Hog's Head and said she saw him. You stay here and wait for the Aurors. I'll go search for him, that bastard. Good thing he wasn't able to cast a proper Confundus. I've set up wards, so you should be safe and I'll be alerted if he tries to get through."

 _Oh, Merlin_ , Draco thought as he realised they were talking about him. There went any plans to wait for McLaggen to clear off. Draco had never been much good at full disillusionment charms; there was no way he could by-pass that witch without hexing her. But if he did that, he would breach the wards. He would have to find another way out.

Once McLaggen had set off for town, Draco followed, keeping his distance and slipping behind buildings and shrubs. His mind was racing. He was certain that McLaggen would have Hogsmeade Station blocked off as well. He wondered if he could find a way into the Shrieking Shack from this side and slip out through the Hogwarts grounds that way.

By this time, the sun was fully up and the town was beginning to fill with people. Everyone was making preparations for that afternoon's End of Summer Festival. Draco did his best to remain unnoticed by the passersby.

Not looking well enough where he was going, Draco ran smack into Harry, who was just unlocking the shop for a few hours.

"Umph!" Harry said. "Oh, Todd. There you are. Want to give me a hand?"

Draco grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and hauled him inside the shop, not bothering to take care not to slam the door.

"Todd! What the hell?"

"Shhh!" When Draco was confident that McLaggen wasn't outside listening, he said, "There's a…wizard. He's sort of…after me."

Harry pursed his lips and frowned. "For what, exactly?" He crossed his arms.

"Wait…didn't you read my letter?"

"What letter?"

"The one I left on your—look, it doesn't really matter right now."

"You want to fill me in?" Harry still looked impatient.

Glancing furtively behind him, Draco said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth. I can't explain it right now. All I'm asking is that you help me find a way out of here. He's bringing the Aurors." Draco looked into Harry's eyes. "Please?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Aurors? Just what is going on?"

" _Please_ ," Draco begged.

"Fine. I'll take care of it." Harry flicked his wand at Draco, who jumped in surprise. "Just a Disillusionment charm," he muttered, shoving Draco against the wall by the door.

Not a moment too soon. Just as Draco disappeared, the shop bell rang and in walked McLaggen. Draco held his breath.

McLaggen looked Harry up and down. "Haven't changed much, Potter," he commented, his voice full of something that made Draco want to put him through the nearest wall.

"Nor have you, McLaggen," Harry agreed. "What brings you here?"

"Come off it, Potter. I want to know where you're hiding him."

"Hiding who?"

"Todd Hadley. We both know he's here."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

McLaggen moved closer to Harry. "You think you know him? You think you're the only one he's sweet-talked into ignoring what—and who—he really is? I know he's here in town, and judging by the way you're covering for him, so do you."

"You must be mistaken."

McLaggen scrutinised Harry. "You let him fuck you, didn't you?" He leaned in. "Think you're the only one?"

Harry said nothing, so McLaggen continued. "You have no idea. I've got dirt on him that would curl your hair. He's used you, just like he's used someone in every village all over Britain. Might want to think about a trip to Saint Mungo's for a check," he sneered.

"Sounds like you're jealous that he got to me first."

"I don't think so," McLaggen replied, but there was a slight waver in his voice.

Harry backed up a bit, and made a "wait a moment" gesture low down, at his side. Draco stayed still, but prepared to run. Harry moved around so that McLaggen's back was to Draco.

"Maybe he's not the one who's been doing the using," Harry murmured, leaning on the counter and placing his free hand on McLaggen's chest. Draco thought for a moment he might be sick.

"Mm, is that right?" McLaggen asked.

"Mm-hmm. You know, _Cormac_ , I don't believe I ever did tell you why I _really_ didn't want you playing Quidditch on my team all those years ago."

McLaggen's face was inches from Harry's. "Thought it was because you were stacking the team with your mates."

Harry shook his head. Keeping his eyes locked on McLaggen's, he motioned to Draco. Draco inched closer to the door.

"Nope. I was just afraid I would get distracted by your fine arse _riding a broomstick_ ," Harry breathed. He pushed himself upright from the counter and laid his hand on McLaggen's upper arm, maintaining eye contanct. With his other hand, he waved at Draco.

Draco moved swiftly, slipping out the door of the shop. The last thing he heard was Harry saying, "Get your slimy hands off my arse, you prick!" followed by the sound of someone's nose being broken.

 _I hope it's McLaggen's_ , Draco thought as he hurried up the road.


	20. 25 Broomsticks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: They may not be mine, but I can use my imagination to put them in my story.
> 
> Warnings: None
> 
> A/N: Penultimate chapter. Think it'll work out?

As Draco dashed up the street, he didn't have much of a plan, nor was he paying attention to where he was going. For the second time, he crashed into someone; this time it was Teddy.

"Mr. Hadley! I was just looking for you!"

"What is it?"

"The End of Summer Festival. All the kids are waiting for you to tell them what to do. Blaise says the robes are in, too. What do you want me to tell them?"

"Go get the robes, have the kids put them on, and take them out to the field. Just wait there," Draco told him. With any luck, Harry would have chased off McLaggen and he could escape. By that time, it wouldn't matter what else happened.

Teddy ran off to follow his orders. Draco continued in the opposite direction, heading for the other end of town.  Within minutes, Harry had caught up to him. Draco tried to shake him off, but Harry was persistent.

"Tell me what's going on."

"No!"

Harry frowned. "First, you tell me that the Aurors are after you, and then McLaggen shows up in my shop looking for you. If you want my help, you had better start explaining."

"I don't need your help! I just need to get out of here before they catch up to me. _Please_. Let me go."

"I don't think so."

Draco slumped his shoulders. "Fine. You might as well know the truth." _Or at least as much of it as I'm going to tell you._

"Out with it."

"I'm—when I said that I was in sales, I meant that I used to run scams."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "You conned people?"

"Yes. But when I stumbled upon the idea for the flight school, I suppose I had it in my head that it might actually work out this time." He looked up at Harry. "I wanted it to be true," he whispered.

The expression on Harry's face was unreadable. "And where did I fit into all of this?"

"You—you were the one thing I didn't count on. I promise, what I feel about you is the most real thing there is about me." Draco lifted his hand and laid it on Harry's cheek. Harry closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, there was a determined gleam there. "You'll owl me?"

"Yes. I promise you that."

"Then let's go. I'll give you a hand. You can get out of here easily—I can show you."

"No. You don't want to get involved in this. Just keep them busy, I can get out myself."

"Don't be stupid." Harry grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him.

As they came toward the end of the road, they met up with Granger and her children. She looked confused; Hugo looked angry. Draco tried to speak to him.

"Hugo—" he started.

Hugo looked up into Draco's face. Then, with all the force possessed by a five-year-old boy, he kicked Draco as hard as he could in the shin.

"Ow!" Draco yelled. "What was that for?"

"You're a bad man! The Aurors are looking for you! They came to ask Mum and Dad where you were."

"Hugo, don't," Granger said.

Draco shook his head at her. He knelt down at the boy's eye level. "You're right," he said.

Hugo's eyes widened and he backed up a step. "I am?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I've done some pretty bad things. I tried to trick everyone."

Hugo stared at him. "So there's no stunt flying?"

Draco sighed. "I wanted there to be. But no, there isn't. And I'm done. I'm done lying." He stood up and faced Harry. "I'm done running."

"There's still time," Harry said.

"No. I was running away, but I need to stop sometime. I can't just go back home to hide. I stayed too long here, and I knew it. I knew it wasn't a good idea. But if this is the way I'm meant to go out, then so be it." He laid his hand on Harry's neck.

They had stopped long enough that two Aurors and Bill Weasley had caught up with them. Bill was glaring. "I knew there was something wrong with this whole thing," he grumped.

"Wait!" Harry put up his hand to stop the Aurors. "Just wait. Give Mr. Hadley a chance to prove he is who he says he is," he pleaded.

Draco whipped his head around to look at Harry. He tried to mouth, "What are you doing?" but Harry shook his head slightly. Draco felt panic rising in him.

Bill's expression softened. "Harry, I know you've had a—relationship of sorts. But he's a con artist. You can't be serious."

"I am. Give him a chance to show you what those kids can do. That's all I ask."

Bill nodded. "All right. For you, I will do this."

Harry led Draco, the Aurors, Bill, and the others into the field behind the Shrieking Shack. The other children were already assembled there, with Teddy keeping them in line. When Bill saw the boy taking responsibility for the others, he turned to look at Harry, his eyebrows raised. Harry shrugged.

There were a few dozen parents there as well, along with the large-nosed witch and another Auror, a mousy sort of young man who looked vaguely familiar to Draco, though he couldn't place him. Draco was pleased to see that no one had bothered healing McLaggen; he was sporting bruises under both of his eyes, and his nose was still bleeding. No one looked happy.

Teddy ran up to them. "What's going on? They're all saying there won't be any flight demonstration. Is that true?"

"There will be a demonstration, Teddy. Just go back with the kids," Harry told him.

One of the parents demanded to know what Draco was doing there. Several others chimed in. Most of them were calling for his arrest. Bill had to hold up his hands for silence.

Harry looked at the group gathered there in the field. "How many of you who are now asking that this man be taken away were the same ones who were still living in fear of your own shadows before he showed up? How many of you remember protecting your children so fiercely that they had stopped playing?

"Hermione." He looked straight at Granger, his eyes bright. "Remember how Hugo was at the beginning of the summer? How the pair of you were?" She looked down at Hugo, then over at her husband, touching his hand lightly.

Harry continued, "Before Todd started his flight school, this town was _dead_. We all shuffled through our days, doing one mundane task after another. When Todd started his flight school, everything changed. _We_ changed. We had a new kind of magic—something to believe in again. _That's_ what Todd Hadley gave us. He gave us ourselves."

Harry turned to Draco. "Now's your chance. You show them what you've been teaching those kids all summer."

"I—I can't," Draco stammered.

Harry took his face in his hands. "Yes, you can. You are an excellent flier, and you have everything you need. I've watched you do it for the last month. _You can do this_." He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss on Draco's lips.

Draco nodded. His heart thumped wildly, and he had to swallow against the nauseating anxiety. He took out his wand. "All right. Take your flight positions."

The children lined up. Teddy stepped up next to Draco, who gave him a glance. "Ready?"

Concentrating, Draco envisioned the proper flight patterns for them. He knew each child would be seeing him- or herself performing the manoeuvres. They mounted their broomsticks.

At the wave of his wand, they all lifted off the ground. The stunts were uncomplicated: a few circles, a couple of loops. Most of the children were slightly out of time with each other. But as they rose into the air, all around them parents were _ooh_ ing and _aah_ ing over their darlings. Both Hermione and Ron had tears in their eyes.

"Guide them down," Draco instructed Teddy. Teddy sent them his own set of images, bringing the children to land safely on the ground.

The crowd, which had grown considerably since they started, was applauding wildly. Harry grinned and pressed his fingers into Draco's arm. Teddy grabbed his hand and shook it furiously.

Draco glanced over in time to see Hugo running full-tilt at his parents. Granger scooped him up into her arms and Ron wrapped his free arm around both of them. Rose hugged her father from behind.

"Did you see me?" Hugo demanded. "I was good, wasn't I, Mum?"

"You were wonderful, sweetheart."

Bill clapped Draco on the back and said, "Well done!" He turned to the Aurors. "I think we're done here," he said. "Obviously Mr. Hadley is competent, and he accomplished what he said he would. You're welcome to join us for the celebration if you like."

Draco eyed McLaggen, who looked as though Christmas had been cancelled permanently. Draco couldn't help feeling just a little bit smug about that. Without another word, McLaggen and the large-nosed witch stalked away from the field.

With that, the End of Summer Festival began in earnest. There were games, music, food, and general good cheer long into the night. The children begged to be allowed to perform in earnest, as they had intended. Draco suggested that Teddy try his hand at leading them this time.

Finally, as the Celebration was winding down, Draco caught Harry alone. In the velvety darkness of the late August night, Harry slipped his hand into Draco's and leaned against him. That was the moment Draco was sure that he had fallen hopelessly, completely in love with Harry Potter. He knew that although he hadn't broken Harry's heart by leaving that morning, he would have to tell him the truth. He turned to face Harry.

"There's something I have to tell you," he said, his voice breaking slightly.

"Not here. Walk me home?" It was an echo of Draco's words the week before, holding within it an invitation.

Draco thought he might not be able to go through with it if he waited, so he shook his head. "I…"

"Come on," Harry repeated. "Let's go. We can talk back at my place."

So Draco, his heart heavy, let Harry lead him back toward the cottage.


	21. Til There Was You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: For the last time *sniff* they are not mine. *considers other naughty adventures they might have*
> 
> Warnings: The end. Alas.
> 
> A/N: Well, folks, this is it. Thank you so much for sticking with my little story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I originally started this as a way to cure my writer's block for my non-fanfic, and an earlier version can be found elsewhere. I will shortly be posting the sequels to this one, because someone suggested they wanted some smut with both our gents knowing the truth about each other.

Before the pair of them made it off the field and onto the road, Blaise stopped them. "I need a word with you."

"Can't it wait?"

"No, it bloody well can't wait." Blaise glanced at Harry. "Give us a minute?"

"I'll wait over here."

Blaise pulled Draco several metres away and stood facing him. "That was an impressive display."

Draco clenched his teeth. "You didn't stop me just to congratulate me. What do you want?"

"You need to tell him the truth."

"I don't know how it's any of your business."

"It is because I'm the one who made sure you ended up here when you were back in the Leaky Cauldron deciding where to go. Remember the tiny witch?"

"That was _you_?"        

"I can still brew a hell of a batch of polyjuice." Blaise smirked briefly. "If I were you, I would keep in mind that my wife made herself very clear about what will happen if you bollocks this up."

They both glanced over to where Harry stood waiting. He was entertaining himself by whistling and making a trail of sparks with his wand. Draco sighed.

"I know."

"Good," Blaise said. With that, he left.

Draco remained for a moment longer, weighed down by the knowledge that he was almost certainly going to be hexed one way or another—if not by Harry for lying to him, then by Ginny and her brothers for breaking his heart. Chances were good he'd get it from both ends.

With a resigned sigh, Draco returned to the spot where he'd left Harry. They walked without speaking until they reached the cottage. Harry unlocked the door and let them in.

They had hardly made it inside when Harry said, "You can drop the Glamour now, Malfoy."

"I…wait, what?" Draco could feel himself beginning to panic.

"You know, you have a really bad habit of not paying attention the first time I say things to you. I said, you can drop the Glamour. I know who you really are." Harry leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

Draco licked his lips and swallowed thickly. "How?"

Harry chuckled. "You didn't really think that I left my job at the ministry, did you? This is my post."

"You're still an Auror." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I am."

"So, you don't really run that shop?"

"No, I actually do own the Silver Quill."

Draco remembered something. "That Auror who was there at the flight demonstration—the one who looks like a mouse. He was in your shop that first day."

"Oh, Dennis? Yes, he was checking in. I didn't want him to blow my cover, so he put on shop robes."

Draco tried to process all of this. "And Weasley? Ron, I mean? Is he still an Auror too?"

"No. He really did have an accident, and he really does manage Weasley's Wizard Wheezes here in the village. He hasn't been an Auror for more than two years."

Draco sat down at the kitchen table. All this time, he thought he was the one who was pulling a con. He put his head in his hands. "How long have you known?"

"A while."

"How. Long."

"I knew that first day you asked me to have dinner with you that you were using a Glamour, but I didn't understand why. I was suspicious after our dinner and your…er, _reaction_ to Parseltongue, so I did some digging." Harry shrugged. "I figured it would be enough to keep an eye on you, and I could always take care of things if I needed to."

Draco could feel the heat in his face. "All this time, and you never said anything? You never even tried to stop me."

"I didn't need to." Harry walked over to the table and sat down opposite Draco.

" _Why_ didn't you tell me that you knew?"

"I figured you had your reasons for hiding. I also knew you needed to be the one to tell me. Would you have stayed if you knew that I was on to you?"

"So…so was everything you said to me a lie?" Draco didn't like how small his voice sounded.

Harry put his hand on top of Draco's and pressed briefly before taking it back. "Not everything."

"When will the others be here?"

"What others?"

"The other Aurors." Draco knew he was in trouble, but he wasn't sure how much.

"I didn't call any others."

"You didn't?"

Harry shook his head. "Nope."

"But—"

"When I figured out who you were, I thought I would just watch and wait to make sure you didn't do anything stupid." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Draco felt his heart speed up. "So what happened?" He didn't dare to hope.

"I didn't count on falling in love with you," Harry said.

"In—in love? But…"

"Yes, in love. I had determined that I didn't need anyone. I had my friends and the family that took me in. But then you came along…" his eyes softened. "…and I pushed you away. First because I didn't know who you were, and then because I did."

"What changed your mind?" Draco asked.

"You did," Harry said. "You and your persistence and your picnic and your stupid green apple and your notes. The way you helped Hugo get over his fear of flying and made Teddy into a man." He thought for a moment then said, "And maybe Hermione had a little bit to do with it, too."

"Granger? _Granger_ knows?" Draco wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

Harry laughed. "Give her some credit. Of course she knows. She figured it out on her own, naturally. She wasn't sure if you were sincere, but she thought I should take the risk."

"So that's what you were talking about that day in your shop," Draco said before realising what he'd done.

"Finally admitting you heard that, are you?" Harry smiled. "You really are terrible at concealment spells.  Yes, Hermione said I should take a chance on you. You're the one person who might want me for myself, not for my fame. Now, are you going to drop that Glamour or what?"

Draco hedged. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Harry paused. "I've been sure for a long time."

Draco nodded. Slowly, he took off the barely-visible bracelet. He couldn't see it this time, but he knew his hair and eyes were lightening, turning back to their pale hues, and his skin was resuming its normal fair tone. He looked up at Harry, who was watching him intently.

"Much better," Harry assured him.

"Are you certain? That you want me like this, I mean. That you don't like me better the other way. Before this, we weren't even friends." He looked down, fiddling with the now-useless bracelet. He didn't dare look Harry in the eye, lest he find what he didn't want to see written there.

Harry reached across the table and took both of Draco's hands. "Look at me," he insisted. Draco had no choice but to comply. Harry leaned over and placed his lips by Draco's ear. Draco let his eyes close as Harry hissed softly.

Draco was certain that he recognised the sibilant sounds, and his eyes flew open. "You—you said my name."

Clearly shocked, Harry sat back. "I did. I'm surprised you understood."

Draco shook his head. "No, not just now. I mean last night. When we were…when you…"

"I wanted you so much, for a long time." Harry shrugged. "I didn't fall in love with the person you were pretending to be, I fell in love with _you_. I knew I was making love with you, and it was all I could do to keep from calling out your name."

Draco wanted to look away, but something in Harry's eyes held his gaze. "I love you too," he whispered, unable to keep his voice from breaking just a little.

Harry leaned across the table and placed his hand on Draco's cheek, drawing him into a lingering kiss. When they finally parted, both were a little breathless. Harry grinned and ran his hand down Draco's face to his arm. Harry looked down, and his expression changed. Draco followed his gaze to where his letter lay half hanging off the edge of the table.

"Hang on a sec. Is this the letter you said you left for me?" Harry asked.

"It is."

"Shall I open it?"

"If you like." Draco shrugged.

Harry reached for the parchment. "You know, I don't think it really matters. We both know the truth now anyway." He crumpled it and set it back down on the table; with a flick of his hand, it vanished.

Something occurred to Draco. "You said you've wanted me for a long time. What did you mean by that?"

"Only that I was utterly obsessed with you all through school. I even had my house-elf follow you once." He laughed again. "I had everyone—including myself—convinced it was because I thought you were up to no good. It was Ginny who figured it out, actually. She asked once if I was sure I didn't prefer blonds."

Draco scoffed. Then he thought, was that really so strange? He, too, had been obsessed back then. He considered the possibility that it had been more than a childhood rivalry. Something clunked into place. With a start, he understood that Blaise must have known it, too.

Harry blinked. "Blaise?"

Draco realised he had said that last bit out loud. "And Ginny. I knew they were up to something, and he told me before I walked you home tonight that he was the one who made sure I came to Hogsmeade. He set us up," he admitted. "Now I don't know whether to hex him or invite him to dinner."

Harry roared with laughter. "Why am I not surprised? I guess that's what friends are for."

"Well, he always was a tricky one, Blaise," Draco said, grinning. He couldn't help it. Harry Potter— _his_ Harry Potter—had confessed to being in love with him. "So what do we do now?"

"Would you like to come back to my place?" Harry asked.

"I thought we were already there."

"Good lord, no. I work here, but I would rather not live here, thanks. I stayed this summer because of Teddy, but I don't normally."

"Where do you live?"

"London. Do you want to see it?" Harry leaned forward. "You can even spend the night, if you like. Kreacher will make us dinner."

"Kreacher? Not that horrid old house-elf my Great-Aunt Walberga owned?"

Harry chuckled. "The same. Don't worry, he'll take good care of you. After all, you come from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black."

Draco rolled his eyes. "All right."

"To my place it is, then," Harry said. They stood; Harry pulled Draco close and kissed him deeply.

"If you stay the night," Harry said when they came up for air, "after dinner we can—" He put his mouth right up to Draco's ear and let out a string of unintelligible hissing. The soft sounds and light vibrations were every bit as erotic as they had been the night he'd heard Harry use them at dinner—perhaps even more. Draco gasped.

"I…hope…you're planning to…translate that," he managed.

"Count on it," Harry said, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

And with that, Harry drew Draco in again, wrapped an arm around his waist, and Apparated them both home.

* * *

_Finite_


End file.
